LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITBD STATES OF AMERICA. 



Rhymes for all Seasons 



BY 



SARAH PRESCOTT KELLOGG 



3 3 







BOSTON 
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 

Franklin and Hawley Streets 






Copyright, i8S6, by 
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY. 



PRESS OF HENRY H. CLARK & CO., BOSTON. 



PREFACE. 



My only excuse for publishing this volume is given in the 
words of our lamented poet, — 

" And the song from beginning to end 
Was found again in the heart of a friend." 

So of the poems in this book, if I may call them such, many 
of them were written for, or at the solicitation of, personal 
friends; and I offer them, not to the public, but to those who 
will value the song for the sake of the writer, or, perchance, 
have a kindlier feeling for the writer for the sake of the song. 
The critic can well affo^ to pass them by, since the only place 
I ask for them is in the hearts of my friends. 

S. P. K. 

August 30, 1886. 



DEDICA TED 

TO 

Wc^z ilHemorg of ilg ^totfjer. 



CONTENTS. 



THROUGH THE YEAR. 

PAGE 

January 13 

February 14 

March 16 

April 20 

May 21 

June 25 

July 28 

August 29 

September 32 

October 35 

November 38 

December 39 

Christmas 41 

AMONG THE FLOWERS. 

Coming 45 

Easter Morning 47 

Under the Leaves 48 

Hepatica 50 

Trailing Arbutus 53 

Pansies 55 

La Belle Rose 57 

7 



8 Conte7its. 

Daisies 59 

Calla Lilies 60 

An Easter Rose 63 

The Mission of the Lily 67 

God's Culture 71 

RELIGIOUS AND MEMORIAL, 

Psalms XLIII. : 5 77 

"The Lord is my 'Shepherd" 78 

Canticles IL:4 80 

Waiting and Hoping. — Psalms cxxx. : 5 .... 82 

"Suffer Little Children to Come unto Me" . 84 

"What Time I am Afraid I will Trust in Thee," 86 

"When I Awake I am still with Thee" ... 88 

" Lovest Thou Me?" 90 

Revelations IIL : ii 92 

The Bride of Heaven 94 

Hymn of Welcome 98 

In Memoriam 100 

Gone Home 103 

For the Mother of an Angel 106 

Shadowed no 

From Glory to Glory 113 

Longfellow 116 

"Thou Crownest the Year with thy Goodness," 117 

ANNIl^ERSARIES. 

After Fifty Years 121 

For a Silver Wedding 127 

After Thirty Years . « . 130 

For the Eightieth Birthday of Captain S. F. . 134 
For the Eightieth Birthday of Miss Charity S. 137 



Contents. 9 

BALLAD OF THE PLEIADES. 

The Pleiades : A Ballad 143 

-MISCELLANEOUS. 

The Spinning-Wheel's Story 157 

MoNA 162 

Jephthah and His Daughter 168 

Heaven 172 

Bethlehem, N. H., 1882 175 

After Battle, 1864 178 

Life 181 

Remonstrance 183 

April i, 1879 185 

Spring 187 

In Autumn Time 188 

Uplifting 190 

A Dreamer 192 

Wherefore ? 194 

The Mermaid's Song 196 

Trust 198 

How to Know 200 

The Wide, Wide World 203 

Almost Home 205 

Transition 206 

Contrasts — Autumn Rain 207 

Summer Sunshine 208 

Wrecked 211 

Oblivion 212 

A Dream 213 

Evening in the Country 215 

Bird Songs 218 

Autumnal Days 220 



lO Contents. 

While the Day Lasts 222 

The Difference 224 

Pocahontas 225 

My City 227 

A Blind Pilgrim 230 

The Old and the New 232 



THROUGH THE YEAR. 



RHYMES FOR ALL SEASONS, 



THROUGH THE YEAR. 



JANUARY, 

Crowned with the golden aureole of the morn 

He comes ; — a white-robed priest, with strong, pure 

face. 
On which no earthly passion leaves a trace ; — 

Bearing upon his arms a babe new-born. 
Murmuring a " requiescat ^' for the dead, 
He lays his hand in blessing on the head 

Of this, the latest year ; — then gives the fair. 
Pale nursling to the arms of her who stands, 
Eager and waiting with her outstretched hands ; — 

The fond Earth-mother, in whose tender care 

He leaves the little one, while he shall bring 

White, fleecy robes, and gems that brightly glow, 
Far in the regions of eternal snow. 

To lay at the child's feet, an offering. 

13 



14 February, 



FEBRUARY, 

In robes of virgin whiteness, fresh, unworn. 
Earth sits arrayed, and waits to greet her king. 
What though for her no birds their matins sing, 

The far, sweet bells proclaim a prince is born — 

Heir of the ages. All earth's jewels lie 
Gleaming and flashing in the morning sun. 
By swift white fingers woven one by one 

Into a coronal, she lays them by 

The royal cradle, where the smiling boy 

Lies sleeping. Hush ! Tread softly ! lest he wake 
Ere the snow-fairies robes of ermine make 

To wrap about him. Now the winds, in joy. 

Hold noisy revel. Peace ! He wakes ! His hour 
Is come. Earth knows, reveres his power. 



February. 1 5 



II. 



How fair the sunlight falls upon the hills, 

When from a night of frost the day is born ! 

How like pure wine we drink the breath of morn, 
Till every grateful nerve and fibre thrills 
To new glad life ! How deftly on the panes 

The weird frost-fingers fairy scenes have wrought ! 

How icy pendants rainbow hues have caught ! 
In what a crystal clearness daylight wanes ! 

Ah ! Nature never wrought in kinder mood. 
Than when she painted with an artist's hand. 
With every graceful touch at her command. 

Vast snow-clad fields, and barren leafless wood ; 
Then spread o'er all the rare and rosy glow, 
They wear when February's sun is low. 



1 6 March, 



MARCH, 

All hail ! thou herald of approaching Spring ! 

What though thy voice be rough, thy manner bold ? 
Yet in thy hand thou dost a promise bring 

And we, who know thee, trust thee as of old. 
Though seldom is thy praise by poets sung ; 

Though all decry thee ; — yet we love .thee well. 
The changing seasons never yet have rung 

Their symphonies on one sweet sounding bell. 

We know the warm true heart that throbs beneath 

Thy rough exterior ; and that thou dost wear 
Thy crust of outward coldness as a sheath. 

To shut some tender thought, till the hushed air 
Is ready for its breathing. Guard it well ! — 

This secret of the earth so wondrous strange ! — 
We see its fair fulfilment ; who can tell 

Where doth begin this mystery of change ? 

In it all things keep new ; and Nature's grace 
Is, that to eyes that love her she doth wear 

With each recurring season, on her face 
An added beauty ; growing yet more fair 



March. 1 7 

As she doth older grow. Would we could learn ; — 
But Nature tells her secrets riot to all ; — 

By what sweet alchemy our years to turn 
Fairer for all the snows that on them fall. 

We see how uncomplainingly the earth 

Bears chilling winds, hoar-frost, rain, snow and sleet ; 
Yet keeps through all the miracle of birth, 

Nurtured by cold, matured by summer's heat. 
We see how all the swelling buds of Spring 

Are nursed, not hindered, by the season's frost ; 
Till one day bursts in sweet, glad blossoming, 

The flower that we had whilom mourned as lost. 

Then welcome March ! sharp winds their piercing 
breath 

Must blow o'er thee, ere thou canst wake to life 
The hidden germs that lie all hushed beneath 

Earth's throbbing bosom ; mail clad for the strife 
Of two opposing forces. Thine the ground 

Where now the yearly battle must be won ; 
When Winter marshals all his hosts around 

His sinking banner; — menaced by the sun. 

Retreats ; advances ; then in utter rout 

He flees before the myriad hosts of Spring ; 

While all the trees do float their pennons out. 
And brooks to rivers the glad tidings bring. 



1 8 March. 

And every little silver-throated bird 

Doth tell it to its mate exultingl}', 
Till through the air one echoing song is heard ; 

Rejoice ! The Spring hath conquered ! We are free ! 

But, March ! not alway thus in warlike mood 

Thou stand'st alert, with all thy armor on. 
Sometimes a sluggish current moves thy blood 

And thou dost sleep e'er yet the victory's won. 
Sometimes by sunny skies and soft airs wooed 

Thou dreamest through some fair, and perfect day, — 
A dream perchance of some far unreached good ; — 

A sigh for the sweet breatli and flowers of May. 

Still thou must wake to duty yet undone. 

Not thine to wear upon thy breast the flowers : 
Not thine to dream beneath a fervid sun : 

Or bind with golden threads the fleeting hours. 
Thy task, to guard the germs of bud and leaf ; 

No sleeping sentinel at thy post to be : 
All Nature's life hangs on thy life so brief ; 

Though other eyes than thine its wakening see. 

Yet we are dreamers all ; and often give 

Too much of thought to one fair, distant heaven ; 

Nor ever learn the truest life to live. 

Is doing here the work that God has given. 



March. jg 

Would we could be content, O March ! like thee, 
To leave results for other eyes than ours ; 

Blest, but to nourish germs we may not see 
Grow into fruit, or bloom in fragrant flowers. 

In time, He maketh all things beautiful : 

The humblest deed may one day show as fair, — 
If done by one whose heart with love was full, — 

As do the radiant crowns that heroes wear. 
Brave deeds, men talk of ; — and sweet ones there be. 

Whose graceful charm the poets love to praise ; — 
Clothed with diviner grace His eyes may see, 

The rugged soul that walks in Duty's ways. 



20 April. 



APRIL. 

A BENISON of Heaven's sunshine poured 

Upon a waiting earth all bare and brown ; — 
A breath from northern snow-fields creeping down, 
Chilling the tender things but just restored 
To timid growth ; — oh, April ! once adored ! 

No wonder that thy sweet face wears a frown ; 
No wonder that the sudden clouds arise. 
Darkening the clear depths of thy azure eyes ; 

And that thou dashest with a swift hand down, 
Petulant tears ; — since Nature's perverse mood 
Would seem to thwart thy best attempts at good. 

Denying to thy brow the queenly crown, 
That she should wear, who in her hand doth bring 
The first sweet flowers ; — the choicest gifts of Spring. 



May. 2 1 



MAY. 

Millions of hearts have longed for thee, O May ! 

Earth from her prison, stretched forth pleading hands, 

Waiting the angel who from Winter's bands 
Should her unbind. Now joyful smiles the day ; 
While from his perch the robin sings his lay ; — 

A lay he never learned in other lands. 
He sang it to the Pilgrims on the shore 
Of that lone bay, where mingled Ocean's roar 
With forest music; — and the coy May-flowers 

Oped dewy lids in sudden glad surprise, — 
So long unnoted in their virgin bowers, — 

To meet the sweet light of a maiden's eyes. 
With "God be praised," the Pilgrim hailed the day. 
When o'er that dreary waste first dawned the May. 



Many a lay has been woven for thee ; 

And many a song been sung; 
From the bird-notes trilling glad and free, 

Thy opening leaves among , 
To the strain from the poet's wakened lyre, 

Who has found a note divine ; 
Then knelt to thee \\\i\\ his soul on fire, 

And breathed it at thy shrine. 



22 May. 

Then what can a tuneless mortal do, 

Who has never a song to sing, 
But waits with a gladness thrilling through 

Her heart for a welcoming. 
We have longed, yes, longed for thy buds and flowers ; 

We have pined to breathe thy air ; 
Oh ! never was sweeter May than ours ; 

And never a sky more fair. 

We could not paint, if we would, a cloud, 

Nor echo the song of birds ; 
We could not utter the thought aloud, 

That never was told in words. 
We may not picture a sunset glow. 

Nor find for a flower a hue. 
But our souls the Artist touch may know, 

As the flower doth drink the dew. 

Many a lay has been woven for thee ; 

And many a song been sung : 
But never a tithe that the eye can see. 

Has been told by pen or tongue. 
There are whispers soft in thy balmy air, 

More tender than poet's lays. 
And sweeter far are thy bird notes rare, 

Than the organ's anthemed praise. 



May. 23 

It is better to watch the opening buds, 

Than mourn that the flower must fade. 
The tender green of thy new-crowned woods, 

Was never by art portrayed. 
In God's great galleries hushed we stand ; 

Where some with blind-folded eyes, 
Walk through the beauty on either hand, 

To seek for its meaner guise. 

O May ! thou type of Life's sunny morn ! 

We are children again with thee. 
We pluck thy flowers for the garlands worn 

In the Mays that no more may be. 
Thy violets are as blue as then ; 

Thy orchard blooms as sweet ; 
And down in the memory-haunted glen, 

The same wild-flowers we meet. 

'Mong the hill-side graves we seek a mound 

Where some brave one lieth low ; 
The life he gave for his country, found 

In Heaven long years ago. 
But the flowers of Earth may still be dear, 

As the flowers of Heaven are fair ; 
So with loving hands, and a silent tear; 

We lay our garlands there. 



24 May. 

O May! Sweet May! thou art honored more 

Than thy queenly sisters fair. 
We scatter thy choicest treasures o'er 

The graves where our heroes are, 
And the fragrance of their dying breath 

Is wafted from dale and hill, 
Where the turf grows greener for their death, 

Over brave hearts hushed and still. 



June. 25 



June is the month of roses : wherefore then 
Should she repine that God gave not to her 
The ripened fruit, or golden grain astir 
In languorous breeze ? Doth she not know that when 
Fair Juno came,— a goddess among men, 

Heaven did on her the richer gift confer 
Of beauty that should hold all hearts in thrall. 
Till men in worship at her feet should fall, 
Unreasoning. Why reason with the thrill 

That beauty gives us ? See ! The rose is sweet ! 
We tread its broken petals 'neath our feet 
Unheeding loss ; for lo ! before us still. 
On each new bush the opening buds disclose 
The glowing heart of a more beauteous rose. 



May blooms have cast their petals to the breeze 
And at the gates of morn a goddess stands. 

While faint bird-twitters heard among the trees, 
Prelude the welcome of their choral bands. 



26 Jime. 

Last night the clouds dropped tears o'er the dead May 
Who lay so cold and still beneath the stars. 

The sun arose to crown another day ; 

And looked upon the world through crimson bars. 

He kissed the trailing robes and amber hair ' 
Of her who walked the earth with dimpled feet. 

Then breathed upon the still form lying there ; 
Wrapped in its dewy, filmy winding-sheet. 

Till all its soul exhaled in morning dew, 

Drawn up to Heaven by those strong golden beams,— 
Now June walks proudly all the meadows through, 

And trails her emerald robes by flowing streams. 

Her brow is wreathed with lilies pure and sweet ; 

And in her hand she bears a crimson rose. 
While on the girdle, falling to her feet, 

The daisy in its starry brightness glows. 

But what her lily's dainty, regal dress, 

To fragrant blooms that promise after-fruit ? 

Ah, Avhat ? save that by simple loxeliness. 

It wakes some chords that may be, else w^ere mute. 

And what is in the heart of a June rose 

More than its sweetness ? Perishably fair : — 

So frail that never any wind that blows 
Across its beauty, but must surely bear 



June. 27 

The wafted fragrance of some broken leaf, 

That drank the morning dew ; then stooped to fill 

The rose's chalice. Ah ! the mission brief : 
By fleeting charm some waiting heart to thrill. 

And God, who clothed the lily, did not give 

To her the common lot of daily toil ; 
But just to be : — for Beauty's sake to live ; 

And keep her garments free from earthly soil. 

June sows no seed, and brings no harvest home. 
Small fruit is hers, save some bright berries sweet 

The laughing children gather as they roam 

The green hill-sides with bare and restless feet. 

But June is Beauty's self ; — and day by day. 
We gaze upon her lovely, changeful face. 

She holds her subjects with a regal sway ; 

And keeps their hearts by tender, winning grace. 

Yet June will pass, as May has passed before ; 

And we shall think of her with vain regret. 
Too soon her sweet, charmed days will all be o'er ; 

The rose will sleep, as sleeps the violet. 



28 July, 



JULY. 

She comes with noiseless tread in the still hours. 
Waking, I hear the glad song of a bird : 
By scarce a breeze the forest leaves are stirred : 

The dew lies heavy on the opening flowers. 

But soon the mist parts from the mountain-side, 
Pierced by the red sun's fierce and torrid rays. 
The cattle in the meadows cease to graze ; 

And seek the cooling shade till eventide. 

Oh ! restful summer eve, that ends the day : — 
The weary day with all its toil and heat : 
The grass grows cool beneath the burning feet ; 

And the long shadows fall across the way. 

Oh ! restful, blissful eve, that ends life's day ! 

So shall we go to our eternal rest, 

Like weary ones who find the shadows blest ; — 
The shadows that have lengthened in our way. 



August. 29 



AUGUST. 

All wearily the summer waiteth now, 

Her work perfected. Silently she wrought 
Through shower and sunlight. All the breezes 
caught 
Her meaning. E'en the poppies on her brow 
Soothing to slumber ; and the tired brooks low, 
Half dried in pebbly beds, murmur her thought. 

Now pulsing life the wondrous secret tells. 

For lo ! the flower that dropped its leaves in May, 
Hangs crimson ripe upon its bough to-day : 

And that small handful of earth-buried grain 

Waves fair and golden o'er the wind-swept plain ; 

And the flower's sweetness waits in well-stored cells. 

Oh ! rare, sweet silence ! Work in secret done 
Shows marvellous when brought to light of sun. 



Summer comes, and Summer goes ; 

Summer's on the wane ! 
Life is fraught with joys and woes ; 

Pleasure, mocked by pain. 



30 Aligns t. 

Oh ! tliat joy should be so brief ! 

Would that Time delayed ! 
Folded bud doth turn to leaf ; 

Leaf as soon doth fade. 

Spring came in with song- ami mirth. 
And the wild bird's call 

Now the cricket on the hearth 
Chirps at twilight's fall. 

All the woods are fair and still : 
Denser grows the shade : 

Fog hangs heavy on the hill, 
Where the sun-beams played. 

Yellow leaves among the green. 
Gleam like first gray hairs; 

Showing all the dark between, — 
Coming unawares. 

Light and shadow tiit in turn ; 

Shadow follows light. 
Sunset hills in glory burn ; 

\'eiled in mist, the night. 

August waiteth like a queen, 
Soon to be discrowned : 

Wraps her faded robe of green 
Rovallv around. 



August. 31 

Last of Summer's daughters fair, 

Flower and fruit she brings. 
Sweet her dainty gifts and rare ; — 

Choice her offerings. 

Corn-fields waving in the sun, — 

Meadows rich with grain, — 
Tell their tale of duty done ; 

Summer's on the wane ! 



32 September. 



SEPTEMBER, 

Scarce had the blue-veined lids closed o'er the eyes 
Of the dead Summer, beautiful and cold ; 
When a white angel did his wings unfold, 
Floating cloud-like athwart the rose-lit skies, 
To where the setting sun, with rays slantwise, 
Had changed a purple mountain into gold. 
Upon its summit lay a maid whose hair 
Had in its meshes caught the glory rare ; 
The angel stooped and kissed her; and she rose 
A crowned queen of matchless loveliness ; 
Whose royal favors all the earth should bless. 
Nor did one glance, less soft, the fact disclose, 
That she who smiled, the fairest one in all 
The train of months, had ushered in the Fall. 



Oh ! Queen of the months, September! 

How royally crowned art thou ! 
The summer has hoarded its glory. 

To shed it upon thy brow. 



September. 33 

Thine eye is the clearest azure. 

And a golden cloud thy hair. 
Thou comest with perfumed garments, 

From the purple distance fair. 

Thy kirtle is green and russet ; 

Thy crown is emerald and gold : 
And the sweetest gifts of the Autumn, 

Thy bountiful arms enfold. 

With a blessing we greet thy mornings ; 

We bask in thy noontide rays : 
And we hold our breath, as thy sunsets 

Fix all our entranced gaze. 

We scarcely dream of a Heaven 

More fair than thy smiling skies. 
Each day brings an added glory ; 

Each evening a sweet surprise. 

For the " harvest moon " rides proudly. 

Where the stars of lesser light, 
Grown dim in its wondrous brightness, 

Recede from the gazer's sight. 

Oh ! the endless charm of the moonlight ! 

Making night to be fairer than day ; 
Till we go to our couch, reluctant 

As a child, tired out with play. 



34 September. 

Oh ! Queen of the months, September ! 

For a lyre to sing thy praise ! 
For the poet's gift divinest ! 

For the singer's sweetest lays ! 

Accept but the heart's glad tribute, 
For the words we cannot tell ; 

And the song that remains unwritten. 
Though we own thy magic spell. 

It has woven its charm around us : 
Like a blessing of God, it falls 

On the spirit earth-worn and weary, 
And fretted by prison walls. 

We have caught a vision of angels ; 

We would wrestle like Jacob of old, 
If the heaven-born thought immortal, 

Could be by a mortal told. 

Farewell to thee ! fair September ! 

What thou givest, thou canst not take. 
What thou givest is ours forever : 

Earth is dearer for thy dear sake. 

We kiss the hem of thy garment : 

We would hold thee if thou wouldst stay. 

That thy blessing may still go with us 
In the gloom of the year, we pray. 



October. 35 



OCTOBER. 

Over the hills lies a dreamy haze ; 

In gold and crimson the forest burns ; 
And ever I hear the brown nuts fall 
From the tree that stands by the garden wall ; 
While redder and redder the maple turns, 
In the glowing light of the sunset blaze. 

Over the hills a spirit glides ; 

And a tremor seizes the golden leaves , 
They loosen their frail clasp one by one ; 
They fall at our feet when the day is done ; 
And, down by the brookside, the willow grieves, 
That never beauty on earth abides. 

Oh ! flower and leaf, that seem so fair ! 
Oh ! earth, that holdeth so much we love ! 
If we weep when we see our treasures fall 
From hands that would vainly clasp them all ; 
Though brighter there are in the world above, — 
Ah ! chide us not, for we are not there. 



36 October. 

Shall I not give one lay to thee, October ? 

That art so brightly, beautifully fair; 
Oh ! I could revel in thy calm clear sunshine, 

Did I not hear the death-knell in thy air 

Of all the summer brought of bloom and beauty ; — 
Of all the joy in budding leaves and Howers ; — 

Of all the fancies born of idle dreaming, 
While Duty waited through the sunny hours. 

Oil ! fair thou art to look upon. October ! 

But all thy beauty tells of swift decay, 
'i'iirough leaves of veined gold the sun is shining; 

The first rude wind will bear them all away. 

One eve, the sun sets in a crimson glory ; 

The next, the cold gray clouds dim all the sky. 
One night, the '• hunter's moon '' rides clear and tran- 
quil, 

Tlie next, the tempest wildly sweepeth by. 

One day the garden is a bower of beauty ; 

And bright-hued flowers nod to the passer-by. 
The next, all blackened in the morning sunshine. 

With drooping stems, and close-shut leaves they lie. 



October. 37 

The summer brought us bloom and warmth and sweet- 
ness ; 

Thou dost but mock us with a sembhuice fair. 
I cannot love thee for thy strange bright beauty, 

Because of that sad death-knell in thy air. 

Because I know that through the sweet, glad summer: — 
Through bright September to these golden days, — 

We've kept so little th.at we should have cherished, 
To go with us in Winter's cheerless ways. 

Pass on thy way, thou many-hued October ! 

'Neath gayly nodding plumes thou bear'st the dead ; 
Brightness of Summer ; — glory of the Autumn ; — 

For these, — not thee, — our farewell tears are shed. 



38 November. 



NOVEMBER. 

Now all the Autumn's gold is turned to gray; 

Earth puts on sackcloth; and from sobbing eaves 
And bare tree-branches, weeping all the day, 

The rain-drops fall upon the quivering leaves. 
Anon a ray of sunshine streaks the gloom, 

And the pale skies shed a faint, sickly smile 
O'er the cold earlh ; — as one smiles o'er a tomb 

Who tries his will with God's to reconcile ; 
Yet feels that he would call the lost one back 

Even from Paradise, were it but given 
The power to follow in the spirit's track. 

And hold it at the very gates of Heaven. — 
So sad November blindly sits and grieves 
O'er the lost beauty of her fallen leaves. 



December. 39 



DECEMBER. 

1877. 
Oh, mute December ! where the robe of whiteness 
That thou wert wont to wear in years gone by ? 
From wliat strange clime dost bring thy warmth and 
brightness ? 
What spell hath wrought the stillness of thy sky ? 

The winds have hushed their lutes ; no breeze disturb- 
ing 

The unburied leaves that lie by rock and stream. 
The storm-god waits, his restless coursers curbing ; 

And Nature sleeps as in a peaceful dream. 

Each morn I see the trees in graceful limning 
Stand statue-like against a cloudless sky ; 

But from their branches no sweet bird is hymning 
Its notes of praise, or thrilling rhapsody. 

Each day the tardy sun in quiet scorning, 
Melts all the filmy drapery of the night ; 

Kisses the earth, then with rose-tint adorning 

The hill-tops bare, too soon withdraws from sight. 



40 Dccciiilh'r. 

Huslied in the sleep that comes but to the dying, 
When all the agony and pain is past ; 

Voiceless and pulseless, the old year is lying ; 
And every breath conies fainter than the last. 

Oh! mute December! lift thy voice in \vailing1 
Ihing out thy pure white covering for the dead ! 

^^'e too would weep, if tears had aught a\-ailing 
To briui;- us back the davs so swiftlv lied. 



Christ mas. 4 1 



CHRISTMAS. 

A hoary sexton waitelh grim and lone, 

With nerveless hand to toll the old year's knell ; 
Its numbered hours each measured stroke will tell 

All we have known, give place to the unknown. — 

The sexton sleeps upon the cold gray stone ; 
And angel hands awake the silent bell 
To gladdest music. Now the tuneful swell 

Fills earth and air with song for centuries known. 

Oh blessed Christmas chimes: "Good will to men ! "- 

Divinest gospel ever writ or sung. 

The Christ it heralds, walks to-day among 
The poor and lowly ; blesses now, as when 

He showed the mystery of life from death ; — 

Taught Love's evangel with his dying breath. 

Awake, O sexton ! toll no funeral bell ! 

But ''Peace on Earth" in softest cadence tell. 



AMONG THE FLOWERS 



43 



AMONG THE FLOWERS. 



COMING. 



Coming ? The Spring is coming ! 
The robins and blue-birds are here ; 

But the March wind blows, 

And I hear the crows 
Cawing and clamoring near. 

Coming ? The flowers are coming ! 
The tulips have burst the ground ; 

And all in the woods 

The Arbutus buds 
Peeping out from dead leaves are found. 

Coming ? The spring is coming ! 
Already I feel the thrill 

Of the life that glows 

In the heart of the rose, 
That the winter could not kill. 
45 



46 Coming. 

Coming ? Ah ! what is coming ? 

The future we may not tell. 
We never know, 
When the violets blow, 

Or the buds begin to swell ; 

Whether the summer that's coming 
Shall bring to us joy or pain. — 
If the fruit should start 
With a worm at its heart, 
The blossom had died in vain. 



Easter Morning. 47 



EASTER MORNING. 

■I AM the Resurrection and the Life." 
I give the bird its song ; the flower its hue ; — 
The springing blade its draught of morning dew : - 

The buried seed, the germ with Death at strife. 

I was ; I am. The breathing world is rife 

With spirit-power; with good that conquers ill ; — 
That hushes passion with its " Peace ! be still ! " 

And lifts dead manhood up to life anew. 

As trees put on their living robes again, 

And brooks their silence break at Nature's call, 
So none that live shall say, " This life is all " • 

Since I have dwelt among the sons of men ; 

And for them conquered Death, that they might rise 

With Me to purer life beyond the skies. 



48 Under the Leaves, 



UNDER THE LEASES. 

Under the leaves the violets sleep ; 
Up from the leaves the snow-drops peep. 
Under the leaves in tattered gown, 
Sweet-faced Arbutus nestles down. 
Up from the leaves the crocus springs ; — 
Blade of grass with a butterfly's wings. 
Under the leaves in the April rains 
Blood-root washeth its crimson stains ; 
Till into the glad, sweet morning light 
It lifteth a blossom pure and white. 
Up from the leaves with ^vinsome grace, 
Daffodil raises a fair, proud face. 
Hyacinths shake from their bells the dew, 
Pink and purple and white and blue. 
Tulips gorgeous, but fair to see. 
Blend their colors in harmony. 
Pansies, wrapped in purple and gold. 
To Earth's warm bosom coy faces hold, 
Roses blush in the morning light. 
And lilies kneel in their robes of white. 



Under the Leaves. 49 

Balsam and Zinnia, scentless, fair; — 
Poppies nodding in drowsy air; — 
Queenly dahlias in perfect dress ; — 
Prim, with a touch of haughtiness ; — 
Aster and golden-rod, last of all, — 
Fair and smiling when dead leaves fall ; — 
Under the leaves they all must sleep ; 
While over the leaves the gray skies weep. 
Under the leaves a promise waits ; 
And Hope stands warden by golden gates. 
Seed shall be found in garnered sheaves ; 
That, sown in tears, lies under the leaves. 



50 Hepatica. 



HEP A TIC A. 

Blue and pink and white ! 
All in your gala dress ; — 

Starring the ground with light ; — 
Fresh in your loveliness; — 

So to-day I find you, 
As I kneel on the mossy sod. 

So to-day I bind you ; 

In a posy sweet I bind you ; 
And I walk where the Spring hath trod. 

And I read, as I look 

In the old, old book, 
A marvellous thought of God. 

Blue and pink and white ! 

Gathered and bound with care ; 
Your starry blossoms bright, 

To a sacred place I bear. 
Into a quiet room, — 
To a woman with silver hair, — 

I carry your fresh, glad bloom ; — 
I carry your sweet perfume ; — 



Hcpatica. 5 1 

And she knows tliat tlie Spring is fair : 

Though she can but look 

In the old, old book, 
All wearily from her chair. 

Blue and pink and white ! 

Ah ! once her e3'es were blue ; 

Ah ! once her eyes were brigiit ; 
And tlie world to her was new. 

Her brow was fair and white, 
And sunny and brown was her hair. 

She knew where the blossoms grew ; 

She gathered them in the dew ; 
And dreamed that the world was fair. 

'Twas the first glad look, 

yVnd an unread book ; — 
But the thouglil of God was there. 

Blue and pink and white ! 

\\\\\ you smile on her as sweet 
As you smile on children blight, 

Who come with their dancing feet;, 
And gather you, aprons full t 

They see alone the flowers ; 

She sees the long past hours. 
And visions beautiful. 

Pictures on memory's page ; — 

Dreams of her dreaming age ; — 



5 2 Hepatica. 

Dear woman with silver hair! 
So near to the close 
Of the book, that she knows 

What God has written there. 

Blue and pink and white ! 
All in your gala dress ; 

Starring the ground with light ; — 
Blooming a heart to bless ; — 

I, fain, before I leave you, 

In a garland of song would weave you. 
For ye are a song, my flowers : — 

Poems in Nature's book ; — 

Open that all may look ; — 
The solace of weary hours. 

As close to her throbbing heart 

We lean, of her life a part. 
The stars, and the blossoming sod, 

Above and below, — 

In shine and in glow, — 
Reveal the great heart of God. 



Trailing Arbutus. 53 



TRAILING ARBUTUS, 

A SWEETNESS veiled and tender 
Under the brown leaves lies ; — 

A mystic grace to render 
Charm unto seeking eyes. 

The lily's waxen pureness ; — 
The flush of Summer's rose ; — 

The violet's demureness ; — 
Its folded buds enclose. 

Prone on the cold earth lying, 
In gray old forests dim ; 

Where Winter chants in dying, 
A weird-like parting hymn : 

Or on brown banks reposing. 
By morning's sunlight kissed ; 

With sweet eyes still unclosing, 
Through evening's veiling mist. 

In storm and sunshine ever 
Exhaling fragrance still ; — 

A trust that faileth never ; — 
A joy through good or ill. 



54 Trailing Arbutits. 

This lesson for my conning, 

Svvet;t Hower, thou bringst to me ; — 

Not in the glad May morning 
Alone, life's grace to see : 

But in the evening's chillness, 
Hope's promise still lo keep: — 

Faith that the night's dread stillness 
Is but the wintry sleep, 

Of germs of joy and sweetness. 

That through the long months wait 

The imfolding to comi:)leteness. 
Till Time shall, soon or late, 

'J'hiow open wide Death's portal; 

When [lowers of fragrance sweet, 
Shall spring to life immortal. 

Our wondering eyes to greet. 

So from thy lavish treasures 
I weave a garland fair ; — 

Foretaste of Summer's pleasures ; — 
In wealth of fragrance, rare. — 

Tiiought, to my thought inspiring 
Life's noblest work to know ; — 

"leart, to my lieart's desiring, 
T.ove's purest path to show. 



Pansies^ 5 5 



PANSIES. 

AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 

D' you had asked my favorite 

Anionic the garden flowers, 
1 should have said ; " The pansy wet 

With drops from summer showers." 

If asked what messengers should bear 

A greeting to a friend ; 
I should reply that pansies are 

The sweetest one can send. 

And so to-night your token brings 
A dream of summer hours ; — 

A day full fraught with pleasant things, 
The perfume of the flowers; — 

Tv/o stranger faces kind and true, 
But strange no more to me ; 

For, in their friendliness, 1 knew 
The friends that were to be. 



5 6 Pansies. 

December winds blow bleak and chill; 

I see no more the flowers : 
But angel tokens of good-will 

Fly o'er this world of ours. 

And one into my quiet room 

Brings kindly thought to please ; 

I see my floweret's purple bloom ; 
Ah ! rightly named, " Heart's Ease." 

In vain the winter winds may blow ; 

I feel no more their chill ; 
The flowers lie warm beneath the snow, 

And hearts are warmer still. 

Yet, as the Pansy's heart of gold 

Is richer for the dew ; 
So gifts and blessings manifold, 

May Christmas bring to you. 
December 25, 1878. 



La Belle Rose. S7 



LA BELLE ROSE. 

I SAT by my window, yesternight, 
Watching the snow-flakes soft and white ; 

Watching each downy, feathery fall, 
And sadly pondering over all 

The years that had passed since that glad night, 
When my darling stood in her robes of white ; 

And the many, many winter snows. 

Since the first that covered my fair young Rose. 

The brightest %'er bloomed in garden bower ; — 
The sweetest e'er blest a lover's hour. 

Ah ! Death so cruel ! Ah ! Death so cold ! 
There were scentless flowers in the garden-wold ; 

There were withered blooms and thistles rank ; 
And reedy grasses yellow and dank ; 



58 La lulli' Rose. 

Aixl lilies soiK'd in llicir \'ii<;in white ; 
Karlh-slaiiu'd ami droopin*^ ; — too sad a si^ht 

]]ut my rose was a queen in her modest ^lace ; 
With the morniiii^-dew on her <;lowini;" face. 

Not a pelal mailed; noi a leadi-l dim; — 
A perlecl llower from the hand of iiim 

Who roiiiuth all heanleons lhin;;s in a breath ; 
Vet sa\elh them no! from the toneh of Di'ath. 

() fairest, () sweetest, loveliest Rcxse ! 
Would 1 too were lying 'neath winter snows. 



Daisies. 59 



DAISIES. 

Oh! j^olden-lieanccl daisies, all smilin,:; in llic sun; 
Oh ! merry, dancin^ij daisies, pure-petaled every one; 

My love walUs tiirough the daisies; 

And all men s'uv^ her praises ; — 
For like her there are none. 

Oh ! brave, true-hearted daisies, still smilinp; in the sun ; 
Oh ! tender, modest daisies, as saintly as a nun ; 

I crown my love with daisies ; 

My fond heart sings her praises ; — 
Of maids, the fairest one. 

Oh ! stanch and faithful daisies, ye smile beneath the 

sun ; 
Oh ! winsome white-robed daisies, so dainty every one ; 

My love sleeps 'neath the daisies ; 

She heedeth not my praises ; 
Ah ! like her there are none ! 



6o Calla Lilies. 



CALLA LILIES, 

The fields are white with snow ; 

And white the lilies blow, 
Above their green leaves rising tall and fair: 

And peerless in their grace, 

All regal in their place. 
Emit from creamy hearts a fragrance rare. 

Into my sheltered room, 

Their subtle, faint perfume 
Brings back the summer's bloom and sweetness all. 

Without, the winds may blow ; 

Without, may fall the snow ; — 
No chill of winter on my heart can fall. 

For where my lilies stand 

I seem to see a Hand ; — 
A strong right Hand that holds them in their place. 

But over all I see 

Death's brooding mystery ; — 
Ah ! woe for them, twin lilies in one vase ! 



Calla Lilies. 6i 

The strongest, fairest one, — 

First kissed by morning sun, — 
I know will be the first to droop and die : 

And but a few more days, 

And all tlie sun's glad rays 
Will draw no sweetness from the lone one nisfh. 



& 



Within my sheltered room, 

Where these two lilies bloom, 
There hangs upon the wall a pictured face. 

And in the grave, sweet eyes 

A nameless shadow lies : 
Did some foreboding give the shadow place ? 

Two children, side by side. 

Grew, till the world grew wide ; 
Then one went out; — the other, longing, stayed. 

He had the world to win ; 

But all /ler world was in 
The little home where both in childhood played. 

Now, in the twilight gloom. 

The lily's faint perfume 
Awakes a chord that thrills along the years. 

I see again the face ; — 

Fair in its boyish grace ; — 
With sunny eyes that hold no unshed tears. 



62 Calla Lilies. 

Upon the darkening wall, 

The d3^ing day-beams fall. 
They touch my picture with a softened grace. 

But in the grave, sweet eyes, 

The old-time shadow lies ; 
Though now I deem no shadow's on the face. 

I think of one who died, 

Calm in his manhood's pride ; 
Where blood-red flowers of battle wreathed him round. 

But Peace's white lilies sprang 

Pure, when the war's wild clang- 
Had ceased, o'er all the weary, trampled ground. 

He lies 'neath quiet sod; 

Where never armies trod ; — 
'Tis a quaint graveyard in a peaceful town. 

And on the grave's green breast, 

Like fair, white lilies prest, 
The heaped-up snow-drifts hold the still heart down. 

And one day by his side. 

By Death's touch purified, 
I too shall lie beneath the winter snow. 

But somewhere, hand in hand, 

God grant we yet may stand, 
Redeemed and pure, where fadeless lilies blow. 
February i, 1879. 



Aji Easter Rose. 63 



AN EASTER ROSE, 

Easter lilies, creamy white, 
Blossomed in the morning light ; — 

Lilies fair and pure and sweet ; 
In their loveliness complete. 

But the maiden looked and sighed ; 
Still with heart unsatisfied. 

" All the lilies are so cold : 
Ah, could but a rose unfold, 

"Warm from out the heart of June ; 
Fragrant in the April noon." 

Then the old man, pitying, smiled, 
Half in mockery, on the child. 

" Every season has its own ; 
No June rose was ever known 



64 A^^ pAistcr Rose. 

" Rt'st and slumber to forego, 
On an April morn to blow." 

" Give me then an Easter rose, 
Wakeful through the frost and snows ; " 

Spake the maid, imperious still ; 
And the florist wrought her will. 

On the next year's Easter morn, 
Lo ! the miracle was born ; 

And among the lilies came 
One fair rose without a name. — 

Outer petals white as snow ; — 
Inner, with the tender glow . 

Of the blended hues of dawn, 
Ere the morning's Mush is gone. 

Faintest tint of sea-shell rare ; — 
Palest gold of mermaid's hair. 

" Wake, O maiden ! wake and see ! " 
Bent the fair head reverently ; 



An Easter Rose. 6$ 

Oh, my queenly Easter rose ! 
Never summer flower that blows, 

Sweet as thou, or can compare 
With thy matchless beauty rare. 

So I think the Virgin stood, 
Crowned in her motherhood. 

So I think the Virgin smiled, 
Looking on the fair Christ-child. 

Ring out, all ye Easter bells ! 
Till each happy mother tells 

To the children at her side, 
Of the Christ, the crucified. — 

Of the babe of wondrous birth, 
To the hour he rose from earth." 

All that week the Easter rose 
Bloomed amid the April snows ; 

Every morning's sunshine took 
From it more of earthly look ; 



66 An Easter Rose, 

Every morn its petals wore 
Paler tint than that before ; 

Till at last it shone as white 
As an angel's wing of light ! 

Lower bent its regal head ; 
Faintly sweet its perfume shed ; 

Bowed to earth in vesture fair, 
As a maiden kneels in prayer. 

Then its petals fell apart, 
And revealed its virgin heart. 

Let the rose, O maiden, be 
Emblem of thy life to thee. 

Let each morning's sunlight draw 
From it earthly stain or flaw ; 

Till the light of God shall shine 
On no purer heart than thine. 



The Mission of the Lily. 67 



THE MISSION OF THE LILY. 

A LILY Stood in a garden fair, 
Drinking the sunsliine and summer air ; 

Carefully hoarding her perfume sweet ; 
Saying proudly, " It is not meet 

" My garments to soil and my locks to wet, 
To go with the humble violet, 

"And droop in some fever-tainted room. 
Where never a common weed could bloom. 

" The violet's robes are strong and blue. 
And easily washed in the morning dew ; 

" But mine are fragile and white and pure," 
So in her beauty and pride secure, 

She daintily held herself apart ; 

And kept her fragrance within her heart. 



68 TJie Mission of the Lily. 

A maiden passed down the garden walk, 
And plucked the lily from its stalk ; 

And laid it low in a basket, wet 
With tears of the fragrant violet. 

The lily mused o'er her fallen pride, 

And the cherished gift she thought to hide ; 

Till the violet's rest her pain had stilled ; — 
Her heart with a nobler purpose filled. 

And she knew her life had a mission yet, 
As true as that of the violet. 

From the green hills fast and far away, 
The flowers were borne that summer day ; 

And the evening chimes rang clear and sweet. 
As over the stones of a rough-paved street. 

They passed to a hospital ward, where men 
Had been borne from battle and prison-pen. 

Rough were the hands the violets pressed ; 
But tender the hearts the maiden ble3sed. 



TJie Mission of the Lily. 69 

The lily, she bore to a cot where lay, 
His life fast ebbing and floating away, — 

A man all shattered and torn of limb, 
Called by his comrades, " Corporal Jim. " 

A soft hand moved o'er the pillow white ; 
A perfume stole o'er the senses' night. 

Once more were lifted the closing eyes, 
With a smile of quick and glad surprise. 

As he saw the lily beside him there. 
His lips moved softly as if in prayer. 

The maiden bent low the words to hear, 
Solemnly spoken, distinct and clear, 

" In the beauty of the lilies ! " I've sung it o'er 

and o'er, 
When marching on to battle, where I shall march 

no more. 

" When shot and shell fell thickest, and the ranks 
went down like grain ; 

My heart kept on repeating the sad and sweet re- 
frain. 



yo The Mission of the Lily. 

" And Christ has blessed the lilies , now by this 

sign I see, 
As I gave my life for others, so He has died for 



And the maiden sang him softly, the grand old bat- 
tle-hymn ; 

And the lily gave her fragrance to the soul of 
Corporal Jim. 



God's Ctdtiire. 71 



GOD'S CULTURE. 

I NOURISHED a plant with tender care ; 

And I watched its leaves unfold : 
I gave it the sunshine and the air, 

And sheltered it from the cold. 

But alas ! alas ! it drooped and died, 

With never a reason why. — 
My cherished plant that had been my pride; 

I wept to see it die. 

It had not given to me one flower. 

Nor a bud, for all my care : 
Oh ! had it but borne for one sweet hour, 

Some blossom rich and rare ; 

And then in its wealth of bloom had died, 

I'd have kissed and laid away 
The flower that my heart had satisfied ; — 

For its fragrance still would stay. 



72 God's Culture. 

I put my plant in a darkened room, 

For I could not bear to throw 
The flower that had never come to bloom, 

Out into the winter's snow. 

The weeks went on, till I thought to cast 

My poor dead shrub away : 
But as out of the twilight gloom I passed 

With it, to the light of day, 

A miracle met my joyful sight ; — 

A wondrous thing to behold ; — 
The plant that had drooped in the sun and light, 

Away in the dark and cold. 

Had been nursed to life by a hand unseen. 

Until every branch and spray 
Was flecked with tiniest buds of green ; 

All pushing their eager way, 

Out to find the light, the blessed light ; 

And their myriad leaves unfold. 
Now their glossy green in the sunshine bright, 

Gleams fairer than that of old. 

And I know that my plant will one day bloom, 
And its beauty my eyes shall see ; 



God's Culture. 73 

For a voice from out of the darkened room, 
Hath spoken it unto me/ 

And I know that the hopes I've laid away 

In the darkness and the cold, 
Will spring to a fairer life one day, 

As violets spring from the mold. 

There are lives that never have come to bloom 

Or fruitage, for too much sun ; 
But out from many a darkened room, 

Is a flower immortal won. 

Where the north-wind sweeps o'er the bleak hill- 
side. 

The laurel in beauty grows ; 
Transplant its roots for your garden's pride ; 

It withers beside the rose. 

So souls that in struggle and strife grow strong. 

Will shrivel and shrink in ease. 
Better breast the gale, than be borne along 

We know not where, by the breeze. 

We cherish our treasures over much ; 

And think they are all our own : 
And when they droop 'neath our loving touch, 

How weakly we sit and moan. 



74 Cod's Culture. 

But the dear (Jod knows, and his tender care, 

With a wiser foresight, blends 
The cold and the heat ; and everywhere, 

The darkness and light He sends. 

If He gives us darkness, where we seek light, 

Let w^ f^row its shade within. 
The cloud on the other side is bright, 

But the dark side had not been. 

If it were the best for you and for me 

To dwell in the light alway; 
The fair and the bright forever to see. 

And never the shadows gray. 

Then bless the Lord for the cooling shade ; 

And bless the Lord for the sun ; 
And bless him most, that our path is stayed, 

Where the darkness and liirht are one. 



RELIGIOUS AND MEMORIAL. 



75 



RELIGIOUS AND MEMORIAL 



PSALMS XLIJI. : 5. 

Oh ! heart, be brave ! Oh ! soul, be strong ! The night 

Cometh to all ; but after comes the dawn ; 
And after that, the sunlight broad and free. 
What though thy way should ever devious be, 
And sudden turnings hide the end from sight 

Till faith grows weak, and courage all is gone. 
Know, through the darkness One is leading thee. 

Look up ! God's sun of love doth o'er thee shine. 

God's hand of love, oh ! clasp it close in thine, 
And say, " I care not what withheld may be. 
Nor seek to know what may be yet in store. 

Since Thou, by Thine own will, hast in me wrought 
Such healing I can never suffer more. 

As when thy love was not in all my thought." 
77 



yS The Lord is My Shepherd. 



THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD, 

Oh ! Lord, to be guided by Thee, 

Through the mazes of sorrow and sin ; 

My garments from all stain kept free, 
My heart pure and stainless within. 

Oh ! Lord, but to follow thy lead, 
Up to heights that I dare not essay, 

Because, in my weakness, I need 
A firm hand to clasp by the way. 

To rest in " green pastures " were sweet ; 

But over a dusty highway, 
A wearisome journey, my feet 

Must travel e'er closes the day. 

To walk by " still waters " with Thee, 

And gaze on thy image within. 
Till my own in its glory should be 

Transformed from its weakness and sin, 

Were blessed ; — but Duty may call 

Where the way shall be rough to my feet ; 

Perchance where the wild waters fall, 
Their cold, blinding spray, I must meet. 



TJie Lord is My Shepherd, 79 

But if, in the darkness, I know 

There's One that is near, within call, 

Through the wilderness cheerly I'll go. 
Nor shrink from whate'er may befall. 

The rocks may be slippery and steep ; 

But if Thou, my Shepherd, shalt stand, 
A guard o'er my footsteps to keep, 

I will cling to thy outstretched hand. 

It may be that never my way 

May lie by the fair waters still. 
Till out of the darkness, the day 

Dawns, with rapture my freed soul to thrill. 

It may be that never my feet 

In quiet, green pastures shall rest. 
Until bathed by the lilies sweet. 

That bloom in the fields of the blest. 

But wherever it lead, if I do 

The duty that nearest me lies. 
At the end of my life-path I know 

Awaits me, the smile of thine eyes. 



8o Canticles II. : 4. 



CANTICLES II. 14. 

I SAT alone ; I saw the banquet spread ; 

I saw the guests in wedding-robes pass by. 
I saw each to the pkice assigned him, led ^ 

" No place for me," I thought with weary sigh, 

1 sat alone ; my eyes were dim with tears; 

My soul was faint, and hunger pressed me sore. 
" Must I," I cried, *' through all the coming years. 

See others feast, yet hunger evermore ? " 

Then starting up, I said, "The King I'll seek. 
And at His feet will lay my treasures all ; 

Perchance that He some gracious word may speak ; 
Some crumbs may grant that from his table fall." 

So, scarcely seeing for the blinding tears, 
One forward step I took, and fainting, fell : 

But swift was raised by One who calmed my fears; 
And gently whispered. Courage ! all is well ! 



Canticles If. ; -/. 8 1 

Then looking up, I first beheld the King 
In all his beauty ; never known before. 

White-robed I stood, and on 1113^ hand a ring ; 

And heard, " Come sup with me, nor hunger more." 

Fast clinging to his hand, I reached the board ; 

And by his side I sat, — a willing guest. 
Thus to be honored by my gracious Lord, — 

I had not dreamed that I could be so blest. 

He fed me with His hand, and as He gave 
Of sweetest food, I raised my eyes above, 

And saw a silken banner o'er me wave ; 

And on its folds I read the one word. Love. 



82 Waiting ajid Hoping. 



WAITING AND HOPING. ^ 

Psalms, cxxx. : 5. 

I STAND by the golden gates of morn ; 
I welcome another day new-born ; 

What shall it bring to me ? 
Yesterday brought me woe and pain ; 
But sunshine cometh after the rain ; 

And the sun is good to see. 

The sun ariseth out of the mist ; 
The rose creeps over the amethyst ; 

From the vales the shadows flee. 
Out of the mists of fear and doubt, 
Clear, from the depths my soul looks out ; 

And the new day smiles on me. 

I stand by the golden gates of morn ; 
My heart is filled with a hope new-born ; 

What shall it bring to me ? 
Some hopes have vanished in pain and tears 
And some were lost in the crowding years ; 

Forbid it, that this should be. 



Waiting and Hopijig. 83 

For, better by far than earthly gain -, — 
Better than sunshine after rain, 

Is God's best gift to me. 
I will guard it well, as a sacred trust ; 
I will keep it free from cankering rust ; 

Till my Father's face I see. 

And every storm-cloud that passes o'er, 
Shall but leave it purer than before ; — 

To shine more radiantly. 
The years will come, and the years will go ; 
They may bring me weal ; they may bring me woe ; 

If they bring me, Lord, to Thee. 



84 ''Suffer Little Children to Come Unto Me'' 



SUFFER LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME 
UNTO ME." 

Suffer the children; 

Hinder them never; 
Crowned by Christ's choosing ; — 

Blessed forever. 

Blest, by the touch 

Of His hands on their heads ; — 
Wreathed with His arms 

In their low cradle beds. 

Gold of His glory 

Gleams in their hair ;-^ 
Smile of His sunshine 

Kisses the fair 

Fall of their eyelids, 

Hiding in sleep, 
Visions the angels 

For little ones keep. 



Suffer Little Children to Come Unto Me.'' 85 

Bring Him your darlings, 

Mothers ! and kneel 
Low at His feet, 

That the baptismal seal, 

Pressed on their foreheads, 

May fall on your own ; — 
Arms everlasting 

Around you be thrown. 

Guardians of jewels ! 

Holding in trust 
Souls of such value, 

Surely ye must 

Strive to get nearer 

Each day to the place, 
Where their angels forever 

Smile into His face, 

Whose brightness of glory 

Was softened that He 
Might suffer the children 

Its love-light to see. 



86 JV/ial Time I am Afraid. 



"WHAT TIME I AM AFRAID I WILL 
TRUST IN THEE." 

Our ship was outward bound, when lo ! the gale 
Came sweeping down in darkness o'er the sea. 

The forked red lightnings made my spirit quail, 
When suddenly some sweet words came to me. 

Some blessed words, that God's own Psalmist spoke ; 

Recalling Him, who calmed the troubled sea. 
In vain the angry waves in fury broke 

Against the vessel's sides ; no more to me 

Came fear ; for One I loved held all the sea 
In his right hand, as I had held that day, 

His gift ; — the Book most precious unto me ; 
For there my heart had found its yea and nay. 

And in it seeking something that might be 

For that day's need ; its leaves had opened where. 

These words shone forth, so clear my eyes could see 
A sure, swift answer to my spirit's prayer. 

The storm its fury spent ; o'er white-capped waves, 

The vessel rode into a calmer sea ; 
Upheld by One who in all danger saves ; — 

" What time I am afraid, I'll trust in Thee." 



IV/iat Time I am Afraid. 87 

Through all the land a lurking terror crept ; — 
The pestilence that in the darkness trod : 

And strong men bowed, and women prayed and wept ; 
And stretched mute hands in agony to God. 

Calmly I walked where men with bated breath 

Turned faces pale ; — v/ith white lips questioned me : 
" Hast thou no fear of that dread thing called 

Death?" — 
" Nay ! for God's angel in its place I see. " 

" What time I am afraid," lo ! One is near, 
Who holds the direst forces at His will. 

Through storm and pestilence one voice I hear, 

Clear, sweet and ringing, saying, " Peace ! be still ! " 

Held by His hand, in danger's paths I tread ; 

And even Death no harm can bring to me. 
I walk in safety where His feet have bled ; 

I walk in darkness where my God can see. 

O God ! who ever orderest our ways ; 

From doubt and fear keep us forever free. 
For notes of woe, give us a song of praise ; — 

For terror's anguish, a sweet trust in Thee. 



88 *'//7/r// / Awah' 1 am Still with Tliccy 



"WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH 
THEE." 

Yes ! still with Thee ! Through clouds the morn is 
breaking ; 

The night's dread phantoms from its presence flee; 
And I, the land of strange, wild dreams forsaking, 

Awake, rejoicing 1 am still with I'hee. 

Rejoicing in the strong and sweet assurance, 

That Thou art near, to soothe and to sustain; — 

Rejoicing that no grief beyond endurance 
Can ever crush me with its weight of pain. 

Rejoicing in the morning's golden splendor ; — 
Rejoicing in the silver light of noon ; — 

Rejoicing in the evening calm and tender; — 
Even in the shadows that may fall so soon. 

For Thou art with me if I sleep or waken ; 

By day and night thy shield is o'er me thrown ; 
And none that trust in Thee shall be forsaken, 

Though to the world, they seem to walk alone. 



''^W/icn I Awake I am Still with Thcc^ 89 

Then nevermore will I distrust tliy kindness ; 

Nor deem Thee fur, because I cannot see, 
Through earthly mists that veil my eyes in blindness, 

The. radiant J^resence that doth walk by me. 



And when the night shall come, all hushed and dream- 
less. 

Then may I lay me down in faith serene : 
And wake to touch the robe of glory, seamless. 

That veils the embodied form of Love unseen. 



90 '' Lovest Thou Me?'' 



"LOVEST THOU ME? 

" Simon, oh ! Simon, 

Lovest thou Me ? '" 
" Yea, Lord, Thou knowest 

That I love Thee." 

" Simon, oh ! Simon, — 

Out from the fold. 
On the bleak hill-sides, 

Hungry and cold, 

" See my Iambs straying ; 

Bring them all home ; 
Shelter them ; feed them; 

Call them to come ! 

" Simon, oh ! Simon, 

Lovest thou Me ? " 
" Yea ! Lord, thou knowest 

How I love Thee ! " 



'' Loves t Thou Me f' 91 

" Simon, oh ! Simon, 

Rest not, nor sleep ! 
Far in the wilderness. 

Wander my sheep. 

" Fainting and weary ; — 

Wayward and wild ; — 
Call them, as calleth 

A mother her child. 

" By the pure fountains, 

Life-giving, sweet, — 
Into green pastures. 

Lead thou their feet. 

" Seek for them ! Find them, 

Where'er they be ! 
Care for them ! Love them, 

As thou lovestMe." 

Simon, oh ! Simon, 

Hark to the call ! 
Love for the Master 

Means, love for all. 



92 RevelatioiiSy III. : II. 



REVELATIONS, III.:ii. 

Let " no man take thy crown " ! 

It is for thee alone. 
Thine through the ages down : 

Oh ! keep and wear thine own. 

A crown of Manhood pure, 
Set with Truth's jewels bright. 

Of gold that shall endure, 
Untarnished in the light. 

A crown of Honor fair. 

That all the world may see. — 
A crown a king might wear, 

And for it kinglier be. 

A crown of Virtue fine ; — 
So pure and true a guide, 

Its light shall round thee shine. 
And evil from it hide. 

So thou mayst walk unscarred 
The path He trod for thee. 

Whose visage was more marred 
Than any man's may be. 



Revelations^ III. : II, 93 

The crown of thorns He wore 

Hath purchased for thee this ; 
The cross He meekly bore 

But points thy way to bliss. 

Let no man take thy crown ! 

To each is given his own. 
Some cast the treasure down ; 

Its worth to them unknown. 

Some barter it for P'ame, 

And some for love of gold. 
One finds an empty name ; — 

The other, loss untold. 

Some drown in Pleasure's cup 

Its priceless jewels rare ; 
Then sit them down and sup 

With Want and Woe and Care. 

Let no man take thy crown ! 

Lest thy soul with it go. 
Who casts his birthright down, 

No other gift may know. 

Thy crown for Life and Death, — 
Bear to the great white throne ! 

Where sits the Lord, who saith, 
" My jewels are my own." 



94 The Bride of Heaven. 



THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN, 
I. 

THE NOVICE. 

" Out of the depths." 

Oh, God ! the way is dark ! 
I cannot see thy face ! 
Help, that my groping hands may find the ark, 
Where waits divinest grace. 

Oh ! Love so measureless ! 
To which all earthly love 
Seems naught, o'ershadowed by the tenderness 
Down-reaching from above. 

I fain would thirst no more 
For springs to me denied ! 
Oh ! lead my feet, in desert paths grown sore, 
Where living waters glide. 

I'd hunger not again, 
By bread unsatisfied ; 
Nor to Life's tree reach asking hands in vain, 
For sweeter fruits untried. 



The Bride of Heaven. 95 

Yet, if this lot be mine, — 
To wait the lengthened years, 
Life's best ungained, that blissful best divine, 
Only be won through tears ; 

Redeemer crucified ! 

Thou, who once anguish bore ! 
Help me, by that dear cross where thou hast died, 
To bear, till all is o'er. 



g6 The Bfide of Heaven. 



II. 

THE NUN. 
From Pisgah. 

Oh ! God ! the way is light ! 
For o'er my path there shines one radiant star, — 
The star of hope that leads where angels are ; — 

Beyond, it all is bright. 

No earthly joy I crave ; 
Nor on my heart would ever seek to wear 
A flower too frail, though sweet it seem and fair, 

To bloom beyond the grave. 

No other love I seek 
Than that dear love bestowed by Christ the Son ; 
The love of Him who all my heart hath won ; — 

The lowly and the meek. 

My hunger all is gone ; 
For meat that perisheth I sigh no more ; 
For lo ! behold ! just on the farther shore, 

There, in the waiting dawn. 



The Bride of Heaven. 97 

The "Tree of Life" I see. 
And on its clustering boughs such fruitage rare, 
The perfume sweet fills all the ambient air ; — 

And all this waits for me. 

No thirst of Love or Fame, 
Or Pleasure's draught, shall lure my heart from thine, 
Till in thy kingdom. Lord, I drink the vine 

With thee, and bless thy name. 

I thank Thee, Lord, for this ; — 
The sweetest joy my heart hath ever known ; 
I thank thee most, that when all joy seemed flown, 

Thou gavest to me, bliss. 

I bear no burden more ! 
For at thy cross, O Christ, the burden fell, 
And looking back, I see that all was well. — 

So I press on before. 



98 Hymn of Welcome. 



HYMN OF WELCOME. ^ 

\lVritten/or an Ordination.^ 

" Beautiful upon the mountains," 
Are the glad and willing feet 
Of the one who brings " good tidings," 

And proclaims a gospel sweet, 
Welcome ! brother, with thy message ! 
Glad, thy coming we will greet. 

Oft in beauty on these hill-sides, 
Worn and weary feet have trod ; 

Bearing with them words of comfort, 
As a message sent from God. 

Some are called to other vineyards ; — 
Some are resting 'neath the sod. 



Welcome to their place, left vacant ! 

Thou mayst reap what they have sown 
Thou in turn shalt sow for others ; 

All God's harvest fields are one. 
Joy, to labor where the Father 

Sent his loved and only Son. 



Hymn of Welcome. 99 

Welcome ! brother, friend and teacher ! 

So thou bring a message true, 
All our hearts we'll gladly open, 

All our hands extend to you. 
Pledge of faith 'twixt church and pastor, 

Joyfully, to-day renew. 

Welcome to our homes and firesides ! 

Pastor ! Shepherd ! sweet the name ! 
Bear with us ! for our forbearance 

May we ne'er forget thy claim. 
For the end for which we labor 

Is, and must be, still the same. 

Welcome to our waiting pulpit ! 

Welcome to our place of prayer ! 
May such blessing wait thy labors 

That the Master'll say — up there : 
"Well done ! good and faithful servant! 

Welcome thou, a crown to wear." 



100 In Memoriam. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

MRS. P. D. R. 

Oh ! loved and lost ! What flowers bright were blooming 
For thee to gather in those gardens fair? 

What loving angel waited for thy coming ? 

What seraph band greeted thy entrance there ? 

Buds thou didst miss from out thy earthly garden ; — 
Were they not waiting there in bloom for thee ? 

Perchance some dear loved saint has been the warden 
Of all thy treasures in that home to be. 

Treasures in Heaven ! Wisely hast thou builded 
Who placed no store-house on the shifting sands ; 

Nor kept thy gems in some fair palace, gilded, 
But frailly fashioned by weak human hands. 

Treasures in Heaven ! He knew with what fond pas- 
sion 

We cling to all we hold on earth most dear ; 
Who lived and loved after an earthly fashion, 

But saw love's future with a foresight clear. 



In Memoriam. lOi 

With divine pity for their human sorrow, 
Yet soothing never with unmeaning phrase, 

From Death's dark night to Life's sweet dawning mor- 
row, 
He taught his loved ones eyes of hope to raise. 

That vain the treasure from the heart to sever, 
He knew, who loved each loving friend so well. 

So passing onward to the bright forever. 

He mansions sought where his beloved should 
dwell. 

Oh, loved ! — not lost ! — for in thy Father's keeping. 
There, as on earth, thou doest still His will. 

But free henceforth from sorrow, pain or weeping, 
Joy in full measure, all thy cup shall fill. 

Why should we mourn that thou hast found the 
treasure. 

We seek through life with unavailing quest. 
Why should we weep, that having filled the measure 

Of earthly sorrow. Heaven gives thee rest. 

Rest from all pain ; — but never rest from doing 
The kindly deeds that won thee earthly love. 

With smile and loving word, thy work pursuing ; 
We think of thee in that sweet home above. 



I02 /;/ Memoriam. 

We would not deck thy grave with ininiortelles ; — 
The cold, white blossoms that we give our dead. 

But over it let wild flowers swing their bells ; 
And violets their nameless fragrance shed. 

Loved, but not lost ! We shall again behold thee, 
When Death shall crown us with eternal peace ; 

With loving arms we will once more enfold thee, 
Where all the surging waves of life shall cease. 



Gone Hor}u. 103 



GONE HOME, 

MRS. F. M. B. 

Weep not for her ! She is not dead, but sleepeth ; — 
The restful sleep she long hath sought in vain. 

And over her the loving Father keepeth 

Safe watch and ward, till she shall wake again. 

Oh ! blissful waking ! where there's no more sorrow ; 

No tears to wipe, no anguish to allay. 
A night of rest ; — a bright and cloudless morrow ; 

To her the dawning of eternal day. 

No night is there ; — for never shall grow weary, 
The blessed ones that walk in Heaven's light. 

No dread of coming age ; — no darkness dreary; 
But eyes undimmed to gaze on glory bright. 

No pain is there ! Ah ! joy for her that bore it 
Meekly and patiently as Christ, her Lord. 

Sad suffering's crown ! — how regally she wore it ; — 
With never from her lips one murmuring word. 



104 Gone Home. 

'Tis past ! She bows before the throne eternal. 

She sees the Face she loved unseen, below ; 
Turns her rapt gaze to mountains ever vernal, 

All glory lighted from the Central Glow. 

Now by the "Tree of Life," O friend, behold her! 

She tastes its fruit to hunger not again ; 
Ah! would you now with earthly arms enfold her?- 

Arms that were powerless to shield from pain ? 

Now by the crystal waters see her kneeling ; 

The draught is sweet, and she will thirst no more. 
She lifts her face ; the old sweet smile is stealing 

All gloritied her angel features o'er. 

You'll know her by that smile in Heaven's glory, 
Though all transfigured face and form may be ; — 

The smile that told to all her life's sweet story ; — 
A pure evangel for the world to see. 

And he who in his glad youth went before her; — 
Will she not find him in the waiting throng 1 

Yes ! with the blessed light of Heaven o'er her, 
He must know her, he has awaited long. 

She heard him calling, on her low bed lying ; 

'Twas the still night-time, and she knew the call. 
She said, "I'll come : I do but wait the dying ; 

'Tis going home, and I am ready all." 



Gone Home. 105 

Weep not for her ! Dost hear her clear voice ringing 
In glad hosannas with the saints above ? 

And now the old, sweet song her lips are singing ; — 
The Song of Songs; — Song of Redeeming Love. 



io6 For the Mot her of an Angel. 



FOR THE MOTHER OF AN ANGEL 
1868. 

Out of the darkness into the light, — 
Out of the wind and the storm, — 

Glides a boat with an angel bright, 
Bearing a childish form. 

Flaxen ringlets the sun has kissed, 
Floating o'er shoulders white ; — 

Eyes that were shut in a violet mist ; — 
Wide, with a new glad light. 

What ? ah ! what does the bab)- see 

As he nears the shining shore ? 
Baby has had two years to be, 
Now to live evermore. 

Smiling faces and outstretched hands; — 

Mothers with babes below ; — 

Baby sees as he nears the sands, 

Where the shinin^^ an":els <ro. 
000 



For the MotJicr of an Angel 107 

One with a halo around her hair, — 

Mother of Jesus, stands. 
Close beside her, divinely fair, — 

Lifting with nail-pierced hands, 

One from a group of children bright, 

That cluster around his feet ; — 
Is a kingly form with eyes of light, 

And lips ineffably sweet. 

Out of the darkness into the light. 

The boat has reached the shore ; 
And safe in the arms of the angel bright ; — 

Ah ! mother, wilt thou weep more ? — 

Baby is borne o'er the shining sands 

To the feet of the King so fair ; 
Who blesses him with his nailed-pierced hands, 

Then yields him to the care 

Of the Virgin mother whose heart has bled, — 

Of the mothers with babes below. 
Oh ! earthly mother, be comforted 

For the child the angels know ! 



;o8 For the Mother of an Angel. 



1881. 

Thirteen years have the grasses grown 
Over the grave where my Stevie lies. — 

Over the grave where they hid my own, 
My darling boy from my tear-blind eyes. 

Morning and evening I wept for him ; 

And I decked his grave with the sweetest flowers. 
The sun was darkened, the stars were dim. 

And heavily trod the weary hours. 

Till I remembered the Kingly One 
Who called the little ones unto Him ; 

If He had taken my darling son, 

Then should my eyes no more be dim. 

So the grass grew green on the little mound ; — 
And still I covered it o'er with flowers , 

But I knew that my darling boy had found 
His place among the celestial bowers. 

Morning and evening I thought of him ; 

But I wept no more for the babe I lost ; 
Though sometimes yet would my eyes grow dim, 

For the mother-love, and the pain it cost. 



For the Mother of an Angel. 109 

Had he lived, my beautiful boy had grown 
Almost to the stature of manhood now. 

Had he lived ? — He lives ! — He is still my own ; — 
The heavens keep him ; I know not how 

That I see him not ; — but the light is dim ; 

And a cloud is ever before my sight ; 
But one day, yes ! I shall go to him, — 

Out of the darkness into the light. 



Shadowed. 



SHADOWED. 

Sadie (May i, 1881). 

'TwAS when through the Spring's bright portals, 

Came smiling the radiant May, 
We saw behind her a shadow, 

That darkened the glowing day. 

And the chill of an Arctic winter 

On a delicate blossom fell. 
We turned from the mocking sunshine, — 

For the shadow we knew full well. 

It had fallen twice on our threshold ; — 

It was only last year it came ; 
But then the March winds blew shrilly ; 

This morn the sky was aflame. 

We saw not the morning's glory ; 

We heard not the bird's rapt song ; 
But dumbly we watched the shadow. 

As surely it crept along. 



Shadowed. 1 1 1 

And the May went gayly onward 

With banners and wreaths of flowers. 

She hung them by many a doorway ; — 
But the shadow stopped at ours. 

Then closer we clasped our darling, 
But pale as a snow-wreath she lay. — 

And she, our youngest and fairest. 
Was dead in her life's sweet May. 



Emma (May 31, 1881). 

Once again the shadow falleth 

O'er our thrice death-shadowed home, — 
Peace ! it is the Lord that calleth, 

" Child, I love thee ! Blest one, come ! " 

But, O Lord, our hearts are bleeding : 
Heaven has taken all from earth ; 

All for Thee ; — our grief unheeding ; 
Thou art full ; — and we have dearth. 

Nay ! but they craved fuller sunshine ! 

Fairest flowers will droop below ; 
Earth's cold light is but as moonshine, 

Falling pale on vales of snow. 



1 1 2 Shadoived. 

Lord, we know, — by faith we know it ; — 
Tiiey are blest ; — and we are left. 

Yet could Heaven ope to show it, 
We should be no less bereft. 

Cease ! oh ! cease your weak complaining ! 

What ye see not, ye shall see. 
When Earth's loss for Heavenly gaining, 

Soon or late, exchanged shall be. 

Love ascends, if Love's immortal ; 

Love that clings to earth shall die. 
Angel-wafted, through Heaven's portal, 

Ye shall find all, by and by. 



From Glory to Glory. 113 



FROM GLORY TO GLORY, 

[Suggested by tfie life and death of Miss Sara L. Cleveland, missionary 
teacher in South Africa.] 

From glory to glory, 

From dawning to day, 
Up the mount of Ascension, 

Where Christ led the way. 



She follow^s undaunted. 

The pathway is steep ; 
But the angels watch o'er her. 

And tenderly keep 

Her feet, that she fall not, 

Nor faint by the way. 
Where thick clouds surround her, 

She sees but the day. 

" From glory to glory " ; — * 

Strange motto to bear, 
In a world full of sorrow, 

Temptation and care. 

* About a month before her death, this lady wrote to her friends, " We have 
taken for our New Year's motto, ' From glory to glory.' " 



114 From G/ory to GIo)'v. 

There are lambs that are straying 
Untended and lone ; 

She leads to the Shepherd, 
Each wandering one. 

" From glory to glory ! " 
Her voice, brave and clear, 

Rings down the steep pathway, 
The faltering to cheer. 

It gives them fresh courage 
The heights to ascend ; 

Led on by so loyal 
And loving a friend. 

From glory to glory. 

From life's bright noon-day, 

To where no night falletli, 
She speeds on her way. 

She reaches the summit ; 

The gates stand ajar. 
The light from her '' mansion '' 

Shines out clear and far. 

But not to its shelter. 
For self would she go. 

The jewels were priceless, 
She toiled for below. 



From Glory to Glory. 1 1 5 

The souls dear and precious, 

For wliom life was spent ; — 
To Him who hath loved them, 

She yields them content. 

The cross she bore bravely, 

Is changed to a crown. 
Like a dove on its pinions, 

Her spirit hath flown, 

From glory to glory ; 

Till, resting her wings, 
She, " Gloria in excelsis," 

With the angels, sings. 



1 1 6 L tig fellow. 



LONGFELLOW. 

No requiem for thee ! for who can sing 

A strain that's worthy, that thou hast not sung ? 
Of Hfe and death, the changes all were rung 

Upon the lyre that lies with broken string. 

Nor can we to thy memory tribute bring. 

But that which far transcends it, burns among 
The pages o'er which we entranced have hung; — 

Taking thy creed, with faith unquestioning. 

Oh ! singer of the wondrous " Psalm of Life ! " 

Sweet singer ; who through suffering grew " strong." 
*' There is no death " for thee ! though men may long 

Mourn thy "transition " to a world that's rife 
With song most meet for lips like thine to sing. 
Oh ! poet loved ! — take our hearts' offering ! 



Thou Crownest the Year;' etc, 117 



THOU CROWNEST THE YEAR WITH 
THY GOODNESS." 



" Thou crownest the year with thy goodness 
All the New Year's paths are white 

As the souls of the pure and sinless, 
That walk in their robes of light. 



"Thou crownest the year with thy goodness 1 " 

Though the year that lieth cold, 
Hath taken our best beloved, 

We know that the Heaven doth hold 

One treasure more in its keeping ; 

And the New Year bears us on. 
Still nearer the home eternal. 

Where the loved and blest have gone. 

" Thou crownest the year with thy goodness ! ' 
'Neath the New Year's robe of snow, 

Beats a heart of love and promise ; — 
By the past, its gifts we know. 



1 8 ''TJiou Crowucsi the Year,'' etc. 

And yet it hath joys we know not ; 

And griefs that are kindly hid. 
From the casket's guarded secrets, 

Who would dare to lift the lid ? 

Still we know, that, despite the sorrow, 

Despite the loss and pain, 
*'Thou crownest the year with thy goodness"; 
And it drops from the clouds like rain. 
Jaiuiary i, 1SS3. 



ANNIVERSARIES. 



119 



ANNIVERSARIES. 



AFTER FIFTY YEARS. 

[For Mr. aiid Mrs. E. //., Dec. 29, 1874] 

The evening shadows gather ; 

And here, as the darkness falls, 
We talk of the past together, 

While memory recalls 
The thought of another evening, 

When we sat till the fire burned low, 
And wove our dream of the future. 

Some fifty years ago. 

The colors were bright in the weaving ; 

We saw not the shadows pass. 
Youth builds its fair castles, believing; 

And only too late, alas ! 
We learn the dark threads will mingle 

In the web of life so fair; 
We learn the swift clouds will gather, 
Though the sunlight fill the air. 
121 



22 After Fifty Years. 

Oh ! the glad December morning 

That ushered our bridal day ! 
Oh ! the sky that gave no warning 

Of a cloud o'er our future way ! 
How white gleamed the path before us ! 

Like the earth enwrapped in snow : 
How brightly the sun shone o'er us ! 

Just fifty years ago. 

How the months rolled on in gladness, 

From winter to sweetest June ! 
With never a thought of sadness, 

When the bright October moon 
Shone on leaves all sere and fallen, 

And flowers on their stems drooped low 
P'or hope in our hearts made Spring-time ; 

That was fifty years ago. 

Oh ! the proud October morning 

That ushered her natal day ! 
Oh ! the little life whose dawning 

Was sweet as the flowers of May ! 
Oh ! the pure white lily maiden, 

God sent to our arms in love ! — 
Oh ! the white-robed angel waiting 

In the heavenly home above ! 



After Fifty Years. 123 

How sweet was her infantile prattle ! 

How winning her childish ways ! 
How her young life brought all sunshine 

And gladness into our days ! 
How she grew into womanly sweetness ! 

Clothed with all graces rare ; 
As the lilies grow, clad queenly, 

By the heavenly Florist's care. 

Our darling and our blessing! 

Our daughter of grace and song ! 
Who filled all our home with music, 

When the summer days were long ; 
We twined our heart-strings around her, 

And held her by faith and love. 
That never a harsh word wound her. 

We prayed to the Father above. 

There came a December morning 

When we sat by the fire alone ; 
For the bird our love had cherished. 

To another nest had flown. 
And the lamb we had held in our bosom 

Another's arms would enfold ; 
And the love that had been ours only, 

A stranger would henceforth hold. 



124 ^ftcr Fifty Years. 

Oh ! the sad and drear March morning 

That ushered another day ! — 
So bleak in its cold gray dawning ! 

So mutely our darling lay ! 
With a fair head pressed to her bosom, — 

A tiny blossom white ; — 
With its petals closed untimely, 

Ere the Hower had known the light. 

To her last home in the church-yard 

We saw our treasure borne ; 
And home in the drear March weather. 

Together we came to mourn. 
Oh ! the long, long months of sorrow ! 

Oh ! the days when no sunlight smiled! 
Oh ! the nights we dreaded the morrow ! 

Oh ! the home that has lost a child ! 

But Time in its flight brings healing, 

Or grief were too great to bear ; 
And God by his love revealing, 

Thus answers the mourner's prayer. 
Yet we think in the wintry weather, 

Of the grave that's under the snow : 
Where are blossom and bud together, — 

By one rude blast laid low. 



After Fifty Years. 125 

And when Summer comes clolhcd in beauty, 

We gather for her the Hovvers : 
And think of the grave too distant, 

For feet so worn as ours. 
But we trust that she sees the token ; 

That our Father hears our prayer : 
That though never a word be spoken, 

Her spirit may hover there. 

Oft, when the October sunshine 

Sets the red leaves all aglow, 
Or when 'neath the moon's cold brightness. 

The flowers on their stems droop low, 
We think of the bud we cherished; — 

Of the blossom by Death laid low ; — 
And weep for the flower that perished 

So many years ago. 

But when o'er the white-robed December, 

We see all the soft stars shine ; 
Oh ! then it is sweet to remember. 

Dear Lord ! that the jewel is tliine. 
For we think of the star-crowned forehead. 

And the robe that is whiter than snow ; 
And thank thee for the treasure lent us ; — 

Laid up for us long ago. 



126 After Fifty Years. 

So now. liaiul in hand togetlicr. 

Wo i;o down tlie steeps of life; 
Blessing God through all changing weather. 

Who made us husband and wife. 
Praying to Him for patience. 

To bear all the woe and pain. 
It may be His will to send us, 

Kre He call for his own again. 

The evening shadows gather; 

And the tire of life burns low; 
Hut we trust in the AU-Kather, 

As down the vale we go. 
And He to our hearts is dearer. 

That his guiding hand we know ; 
And we feel that Heaven is nearer. 

Than tifty years ago. 



For a Silver Wedding. 127 



FOR A SILVER WEDDING. 

MR. AND MRS. A. 15. 

On ! llic nioniin:; of life it is fair! 

When our hearts willi the morn are in tunc, 
With never a sorrcjvv or care, 
And the breatli of tlie Spring in the air, 

Jkit oil ! it is fairer at noon. 

Oh I the niornin^ij of life it is sweet 
As the rose-buds that open in June ! 

\w the dew and the freshness our feet ; 

But after the toil and the heat 

Come the rest and the stillness of noon. 

Ye, who in life's morning were wed, 

And have toiled up the heights hand in hand. 
Till the dew and the freshness have fled, 
Where the radiance of noon-tide is shed. 

In its silvery brightness ye stand. 

With the cool restful shadows before, 

And the sunlight and dazzle behind, 
Waiting now as ye waited of yore. 
Do ye sigh that the morning is o'er } 

That your roses are plucked, do ye mind } 



128 For a Silver Weddijig. 

Would ye if ye could call the years 

Back, remembering their sweets with regret ? 

They are gone with their smiles and their tears ; 

They are gone with their hopes and their fears; 
But the sun that shone o'er them, shines yet. 

Would ye call back the Spring for the sweetness 

Of the blossom that promised the fruit ? 
Because with a beautiful meetness. 
Rounding all into graceful completeness, 
The Summer with silence is mute ? 

Would ye dig up your grain-field for treasure, 

Because it was golden and fair ? 
The still blades never hint of the pleasure 
You'll find when you reap, without measure. 

Rich sheaves for your forethought and care. 

Life's work is not ended at noon ; 

There's only a stillness and pause ; 
Like the stillness that follows the June, 
When we ponder the magical rune 

Of Summer's immutable laws. 

And toil is not vain, that forsooth, 
Ye see not the wherefore and why; 

Labor on in all gladness and truth ! 

Labor on through all sorrow and ruth ! 
The harvest will come by and by. 



For a Silver Wedding. 129 

The silver of noon-tide may touch 

Your heads with its glory and grace ; 
But never be anxious o'ermuch, 
For the wrinkles fall lightly on such 

As wear a sereneness of face. 

And the down-hill slopes are not hard ; 

For there's many a rest for your feet. 
And the green banks with blossoms are starred, 
Where " still waters" your steps may retard ; 

And the afternoon sunlight is sweet. 

The freshness of Spring-time is past, 

And the glory of Summer is o'er ; 
But Autumn her rich fruits may cast 
At your feet, till one golden sheaf, last. 

Crowning all you have garnered before, 

You may lay at His feet with a smile, 

When the shadows of evening shall fall ; 
And you'll feel that your toil was worth while. 
When out of the dusk dawns His smile. 
His "Well done ! " you to glory shall call. 

April, 1876. 



130 After Thirty Years. 



AFTER THIRTY YEARS, 

MR. AND MRS. E. S. 
Oct. 20, 1S76. 

The leaves were falling round us, 
The summer flowers were gone ; 

It was the golden Autumn 
That blent our lives in one. 

The harvest all was gathered, — 
The wheat and yellow corn ; 

The brown nuts on the hill-side 
Gleamed in the frosty morn. 

Along the road, the maples 

Dropped red and yellow leaves ; 

'Mid green pines of the forest. 
Stood like great golden sheaves, 

Sun-tinted beech and chestnut, 
While oaks in burnished brown, 

With lavishness of bounty, 
Sent acorns dropping down. 



After Thirty Years. 131 

The world was clothed in beauty; 

We knew it could not last. 
Ours was the glowing Present ; — 

We left behind the Past. 

What Summer's bloom and fragrance, 

To those bright Autumn days ? 
The mist rose from the valleys 

To melt in golden haze ; 

Till all the purple hill-tops 

In gorgeous splendor shone ; — 

And we drank in the glory, 
And made it all our own. 

The dark and dull November 
Its brightness gleamed through ; 

And all the long bleak winter 
Love kept its light in view. 

The seed-time and the harvest, — 

We've had our share in all ; 
The freshness of the Spring-time, — 

The glory of the Fall. 

The years have glided swiftly ; 

But every year has brought 
Some added grace of culture ; 

Some richer meed of thought. 



132 After Thirty Years, 

And we are strong, united 
By love and sweet home ties : 

Since first that love was plighted 
We've learned its truth to prize. 

Our children call us blessed; 

They know our tender care ; — 
A father's hope and labor ; — 

A mother's love and prayer. 

Its memory '11 keep them loyal ; 

Their love will crown our years ; 
Their strength uphold our weakness ; 

Their hopes dispel our fears. 

The leaves are falling round us 
To-day, as when they fell 

On that sweet Autumn morning, 
We both remember well. 

But 'tis a time of plenty ; 

As then, we have no fear : 
For 'tis the golden Autumn, — 

The glory of the year. 

The leaves are falling round us ; 

We count them one by one ; — 
Friends whom we knew in Spring-time, 

On earth no longer known. 



After Thirty Years. 133 

Friends of our youth so many ; — 

Our eyes grow moist with tears, 
So few are left, to cross with us 

The bridge of thirty years. 

The leaves are falling round us ; 

We note them as they fall. 
But 'tis our golden Autumn ; 

God's peace is over all. 

He gathers in the harvest ; 

He marks the ripened sheaves ; 
His granaries are richer 

For the falling of the leaves. 



134 Eightieth Birthday. 



WRITTEN FOR THE EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY 
OF L\-IFTAIN S. F. 

Dec. ^9, 1S77. 

"The days of our yeans are three score years and ten; and if by reason of 
streni;th they Ik four score yeai-s. yet is their strenj;th labor and sortxiw." 

— rs. .re : 10. 

" Labor and sorrow ! "' Is there, then, no joy 
For one who bears the fulness of the years ? — 

P\>r one who wears tlie silver erown of age. 

And blesses God that his life's heritage 

Is where, from heights serene, no longer fears 

Of coming ill shall e'er his peace destroy ? 

Are they who sow the seed more blest than those 
Who bear away the sheaves of ripened grain ? 

Is the day's dawning sweeter than its close, 
When sunset glories tlood the hills and plain ? 

Oh crowned of eighty years ! Envy not those 
Who bear the heat and burden of the day ! 

Three score and ten sat lightly on thy brow ; — 

By temperance and cheerful toil hast thou 
Kept all the foes of peace and health at bay ; 

And to thy face added serene repose. 



EigJiticth Birthday. 135 

If God could give thee back thy vanished youth, 
Dost tiiink that lliou wouldst ask it at His hand ; 

When just beyond eternal hills of truth 
In all the glories of the morning stand ? 

One decade more was added to thy span 

Because thou livedst well the life He gave. — 

And still the years sit lightly on thy brow; 

With strength vouchsafed to few thou standest now; — 
And still the gift of life for thee we crave ; — 

Who makes the most of life, is most a man. , 

Labor and sorrow ! Not for him who leaves 

Spring's witiiercd blossoms for their fruit of gold ; 

The buried seed binds into harvest sheaves ; — 
And owns the new is better than the old. 

Oh crowned of eighty years ! We come to-day, 
Who love thee well, to look upon thy face ; 

To clasp thy hand, and learn from thee to live 

Our years, though few or many, so they give 
To us some portion of the peace and grace 

They wear, who lean upon their (}od alway. 

And some are with us thou hast loved of yore, — 
Unseen by thee ; because thou canst not see 

As yet beyond the veil that hangs before 
The life eternal, 'J'hcy but wait for thee 



136 Eig^htUtk Birthday. 

A little while. Is not hope more to-day 

Than all the cherished dreams of ardent youth ? 

A little while ! Still pressing on before. 

As one wi:h eager steps doth seek the door 

Where waiteth all he knows of love and truth ; — 

Xor looketh backward in his onward way : 

So thou each day art drawing nearer home ; 

Nearer to those thine eyes ha\-e longed to see : 
And soon thou'lt hear His welcome ^-oice say, " Come 
•Up higher ; where the angels wait for thee." 



Eightieth Birthday. 137 



WRITTEN FOR THE EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY 
OF MISS CHARITY S. 

April 17, 1878. 

We stand upon the threshold of the years, 
And look with eager longings on before ; 
The opening vista, roseate clouds hang o'er; 

And bows of promise arch in place of tears. 

Our birthdays come like good gifts long delayed ; 

Time scarce keeps pace with childhood's restless feet ; 

And all its milestones are enwreathed with sweet, 
Fair, clinging vines, by flowers overlaid. 

On such a morn as this, long years ago, 

A child stood smiling in her life's glad Spring ; 
To-day, we do to her this tribute bring, 

Who still can smile where tides no longer flow. 

The years that move so slowly at the start, 

Like great wheels turning with accelerate speed. 
Roll past the meadows green, and flowery mead 

Of youth, nor pause within the busy mart, 



138 EightirtJt Birthday. 

\\'hero burdens must be borne and duties done. 
And crosses taken up to lay not down. — 
Through many a heart-ache do we win the crown 

That has no thorns, in reahns beyond the sun. 

So to tlie child, the swift years rolling round 

Brought woman's cares and duties: — woman's 

pain ! 
Brave woman-soul ! that counted loss as gain ; 

And gathered up the pearls that she had found I 

And now the wheels roll down the sunset slope. 
With swift and ever swifter whirling speed : 
No more past sunny banks or fragrant mead ; 

But rocks, moss grown, gemmed with white flowers of 
hope. 

And now they near the silent gliding stream ; 
Crosses and burdens sink beneath the wave : 
The weary feet, the cooling waters lave ; 

And just beyond, the sunlit mountains gleam. 

And there the woman stands, serene in age ; 
Earth life behind ; — eternal life before : 
She knows the worth of all that is no more ; 

But sees beyond a priceless heritage. 



Eightieth Birthday. 139 

Honored by length of years, 'tis hers to show 
The sun shines fairest ere it sinks to rest ; 
That of a well spent life the last is best, 

Though something of past joy it must forego. 

Yet it is good for four score years to live 

When life is real. Not they who dream and stay, 
Or idly fritter precious years away, 

Know life's best gift, — to which they nothing give. 

Our friend, it crowns. We greet her here to-day ! 
Her life of patient labor, cheerful trust, 
Shows not one folded talent laid to rust, 

To turn the Master's face from hers away. 

Not measured by the scope of that wherein 

The life must move, when God has set the bound ; — 
Walking her simple duty's daily round. 

She finds the goal that others strive to win. 

We read in the Good Book of graces three : 

Faith waits serene ; Hope smiles in every place. 
But she who wears God's impress on her face, 

Sweetest and best of all, is Chanty. 



BALLAD OF THE PLEIADES 



141 



THE PLEIADES, 



A BALLAD, 



There were seven sisters whose lives were one ; 

They dwelt in a palace old. 
And all one day as they sat and spun, 

Each her last night's vision told. 

" In my dream, I thought," said the eldest one, 

" That I sat upon a throne. 
While over me burned a scorching sun, 

And of shelter there was none. 

" 'Long live, O Queen ! ' cried the shouting crowd ; 

' As the stars their courses run ! ' 
' Long live, O Queen ! ' and the courtiers bowed, 

While over me blazed the sun. 

" For years and years in that burning heat, 

I was doomed to my weary throne. 
While the world knelt fawning at my feet, 

I must bear my pain alone. 
143 



144 TJie Pleiades: 

" ' O God ! ' I cried, and I shrieked aloud ; 

' It is more than I can bear.' 
Then the sun went out in an angry cloud, 

And the lightnings rent the air. 

" The thunders shook my very throne ; 

I felt it totter and fall. 
And I was left in the wreck alone : — 

They had fled, — the courtiers all. 

" I woke to behold the morning's gleam 

In my sister's golden hair ; 
And I thanked my God it was but a dream, 

As I knelt in my chamber fair." 

" 'Twas a strange, sad dream," the second said; 

" But a sadder came to me. 
Last night I stood 'mid the countless dead. 

In the depths of an unknown sea. 

"Wherever I turned were jewels rare ; 

There were marvels of wealth untold ; 
But the dead looked on with a stony stare ; 

And the hands I touched were cold. 

" On a bed of coral a maiden lay, 

On her bosom a gleaming pearl ; 
While near her a woman, with locks of gray, 

Held tightly a golden curl. 



A Ballad. 145 

"A babe was pressed to its mother's breast, 

And a strong man clutched his gold ; 
While sweetly taking his long, long rest, 

Lay a sailor brave and bold. 

"Oh ! the silence of that awful deep, 

Alone with the silent dead ! 
I was weary, weary, but could not sleep 

On the slime of the ocean-bed. 

" I cried aloud ; — but no voice could rise 
Through that dense and soundless wall. 

The dead were deaf to my groans and cries ; 
And the dead, — alas ! were all. 

" ' Ah ! welcome, sister ! ' a sweet voice cried ; 

And I saw a vision fair ; — 
A mermaid slipping adown the tide. 

Close wrapped in her gold-green hair. 

" She wreathed my neck with her fair white arms ; 

They were cold as the ocean wave. 
* Henceforth thou'rt sealed with a mermaid's charms. 

Thy home is yon coral cave. 

" 'The living thou'lt lure to the halls of death. 

But only the dead are thine ' ; — 
I woke ; ah ! joy ! 'twas my sister's breath, 

And her warm lips pressing mine." 



146 TJie Pleiades: 

"I dreamed," said the third, "O sisters sweet! 

I walked in a garden fair. 
I crushed rare flowers with my bare, white feet ; — 

But a serpent was trailing there. 

" I could not fly, though my blood ran cold ; 

Transfixed, I stood and gazed. 
There was grace in each coiling, sinuous fold, 

And many the serpent praised. 

" But the flowers were blighted where he crept, 

And the roses red grew pale : 
The violets shrank, and the tall ferns wept. 

When they saw the serpent's trail. 

" It smirched the lily's fair white dress. 

And the daisy drooped and died. 
And the rarest flower of its loveliness, 

Was shorn at the serpent's side. 

"Where he wound his length round a stately tree, 
» Though goodly and strong and fair; — 
A blasted and blackened line would be, 
As if lightnino: had traversed there. 



'ts' 



"Then the flowers looked up with pleading eyes ; 

And the trees rose in their might. 
' So God be with us, this monster dies ! ' 

And he glided from my sight. 



A Ballad. 147 

"But the garden was no longer fair; 

For the serpent had left his trail. 
Alone, I stood in a desert bare ; 

And wept till the stars grew pale. 

" Oh sisters sweet ! how I woke to bless 

My God, that the night had fled. 
I heard, with a thrill of tenderness, 

Your voices around my bed." 

The fourth, — the gentlest of the band, — 

Spoke low, with tear-dimmed eyes ; 
" I saw last night in a distant land 

A city before me rise ; — 

"A beautiful city, with spires and domes, 

And palaces fair and grand ; 
There were halls of learning and princely homes, 

And wealth upon every hand. 

*' But over the city's very heart 

Was hanging a lurid cloud. 
I walked with the crowed in the busy mart, 

And oh ! such a dreary crowd. 

"Upon every face was blank despair. 

Or terror dumb and pale ; 
For a dreadful thing was walking there ; 

Its breath was on every gale. 



148 The Pleiades : 

" Night spread its mantle o'er spires and domes ; 

The city's streets were still. 
The men withdrew to their silent homes; 

And the pestilence worked its will. 

"•Then over the pavements the dead carts rolled. 

But the living followed not. 
The clocks of midnight slowly tolled ; 

I was chained to that dreary spot. 

" ' Oh ! bury my dead ! ' a hoarse voice said ; 

' Come bury my dead for me ! ' 
I turned and looked; 'twas the Presence dread ; - 

A horrid thing to see. 

" He wound his skeleton arms around 

My neck, and I felt his breath. 
My dumb lips uttered never a sound ; 

Oh ! sisters — it was Death." 

A hush of awe on the little band ; — 

A silence of bated breath ; — 
Then one with a solemn, upraised hand. 

Said : " Dear hearts ! Love conquers Death." 

" I too have walked in the land of dreams; 

My path was through meadows fair ; 
In sunny pastures, by gliding streams, 

I gathered the flowerets rare. 



A Ballad. 149 

" At last I stood by a river's brink ; — 

A river swift and wide ; — 
A lamb that came to the verge to drink, 

Slipped into the rushing tide. 

" A child was near him, a blue-eyed boy. 

' Oh ! my lamb ! my lamb ! ' he cried ; 
Springing into his boat, — a wee frail toy, — 

He followed over the tide. 

" * My child ! my child ! ' cried a woman's voice, 

* Oh ! help me to save my child.' 
A boat was near me ; — I had no choice ; 

We launched on the waters wild. 

" The child his cherished lamb had caught ; 

With one arm he plied the oar. 
In vain with his little strength he sought 

To reach again the shore. 

*' We followed close, and we followed fast ; 

But onward the frail boat sped ; 
Till all in the rapids we met at last ; — 

And the falls were just ahead. 

" A kind wave washed us upon the shore ; 

I thought God guided the wave. 
But the mother wept for her child no more ; — 

The child that she could not save. 



ISO The Pleiades: 

" Round tho lambkin's neck one fair, wliitc arm 
The poor, diunb thing caressed; — 

And the child was safe from all earthly harm, 
Pressed close to his mother's breast." 

The eyes of the group were wet with tears ; 

They whispered under their breath ; 
"Oh ! Life is swayed by its hopes and fears; 

Put 'tis Love that conquers Death." 

'' Now prithee, sister, whv look so pale ! 

How fared the night with thee?" 
" Oh ! I cannot tell the dreadful tale, 

For the horror it brought to me. 

" I stood alone on a mountain high; 

A cloud hid the vale beneath. 
The sun rose clear in the eastern skv. 

And parted the misty wreath, 

" That clung to the sides of the mountain bare ; 

Wlien a darker, denser cloud 
Hung low and black o'er the vallev fair; 

And echoing long and loud, 

** I heard the fearful cannon's boom ; 

Knew the battle's deadly frav. 
Strange world ! that had for its sons no room ; 

But one must the other slav. 



A Ballad. 151 

*' 'I'Jie sun rode lii;^li in the noon-day sky; — 

Slill the clasli of contending foes. 
One moment I saw their banners fly, 

Next the battle's deadly close. 

"They fought till the summer's sun hung low ; — 

The sun had grown bloody red ; 
And it cast its glow o'er the flying foe , 

O'er the dying and the dead. 

"My heart stood still with a dreadful fear; 

IJut I knew the conflict past ; 
And nearer and nearer I crept, till near 

The horror I caine at last. 

" Oh ! the sight that I witnessed then, my dears, 

I shall see to my dying day. 
It will haunt and haunt me through the years, 

It will go with me alway. 

" For the peace of your souls I would not tell, 

Though I know the vision true. — 
Did ever an artist paint a hell ? — 

Let this be enough for you; 

''The only living things I left 

On that fearful field of woe, 
Were, — a woman of her sense bereft, — 

A vulture, and a crow." 



152 The Pleiades: 

'' Come now, our youngest, our darling sprite, 

With thy distaff on thy knee ; 
We trust no vision of the night 

A terror hath brought to thee." 

She had spun in silence ; the golden thread 
Slipping fast through her fingers white. 

She only lifted her eyes and said : 
"The web will be done to-night. 

"Think of your dreams, and think of my love, 

When I shall be far away. 
The ark is too narrow to hold the dove, 

The world is too wide to stay. 

" Of that world, dear sisters, you all have dreamed 

Your visions and mine were one ; 
But what to you but a nightmare seemed, 

Is an evil under the sun. 

"The world you traversed is called the earth; 

It once was a garden fair ; 
But the serpent Wrong, of Sin had birth, 

And his trail is everywhere. 

" Wherever he glides is want and woe ; 

Wherever he glides is pain ; 
But Love is mightier than all below ; 

O'er Love all his arts are vain. 



A Ballad. 153 

*' That world, death-stricken, I'll walk within ; 

And Love shall be my guide. 
I will lure young feet from the paths of sin, 

And the tempter shall turn aside. 

" Where the pestilence goeth I will go ; 

I will watch by the couch of pain ; 
I will pass cool hands o'er the fevered brow, 

And the pulses shall bound again. 

" I will go with the mariner on the deep ; 

1 will pray for the unknown dead ; 
And for living ones who sad vigils keep, 

And will not be comforted. 

" To the king unloved and the slave unknown, — 
For poverty's need and the pain of power, — 

I will bring a balm of the dear Lord's own, 
Distilled from His Passion-flower. 

" I will glide unseen o'er the battle-field. 

And the carnage of war will cease. 
With Love for my watch- word and my shield, 

I will usher the dawn of Peace. 

'' But, sisters, I know, though gladly I go, 

I shall pine for your dear love ; 
And every night that 1 walk below, 

I shall watch for your lamps above." 



154 ^'^^^ Pleiades: 

" We will burn our lamps in our chambers white, 

The shutters we'll open wide ; 
For thee, dear sister, shall shine their light, 

While Love and the stars abide." 

In the palace windows each starry night 
You can see those six lamps glow ; 

But whether the sisters still tend their light, 
I do not pretend to know. 

Nor whether the lost one reached the earth, 
Or wanders among the spheres ; — 

I know there are souls of equal worth. 
That have been with us for years. 

I know there are loving ones like her, 
Who have given their lives for love : — 

And we, who are of the world, aver, 
They are angels from above. 



MISCELLANEOUS 



'55 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



THE SPINNING-WHEEL'S STORY. 

I HAVE in my mind a garret, 

Where 'neath cobwebbed rafters low, 
Is many a quaint old treasure. 

That would drive quite wild, I trow, 
A bric-^-brac collector, 

If I should tell him where 
Is the garret dim and dusty. 

That holds these treasures rare. 

To that garret oft in childhood 

I went with my mates to play. 
We rocked ourselves in the cradle 

Where grandmother's babies lay. 
We sat in the straight-backed chairs, 

And wore a high cap and gown ; 
While our brother shouldered the musket, 

From his grandsire handed down. 
157 . 



158 TJie Spinning- Wheel 's Story. 

From a hair trunk by the chimney 

Peeped letters yellow with age. 
And over it from the rafters, 

Hung the peppermint and sage. 
We pored o'er the quaint old letters, 

And laughed at the stilted lines ; 
But one, — a gem in its beauty, 

In my memory ever shines. 

In a corner of the garret 

Stood the great spinning-wheel ; 
And close by its side, one smaller ; 

Some " swifts," and a ticking " reel." 
And once in the ghostly twilight, 

The old wheel found a tongue. 
There were none but myself to hear it ; — 

And this is the song that it sung : 

Come listen, fair maiden ! while I shall reveal 
The sorrows and wrongs of an old spinning-wheel ! 
Many long years have passed ; many bright joys have fled ; 
Many hopes have been cherished, now withered and 

dead, 
Since first, 'mid the world's ceaseless bustle and strife, 
I commenced my career of laborious life. 
Laborious 'twas then ; but alas ! useless now ! 
How is it, fair maiden ! oh ! pray, tell me how. 



TJie Spinning- W/ieers Story. 159 

The world is so changed, that worth honest and true 
Must ever give place to the thing that is new; 
That the aged and poor, scorn are doomed to endure, 
While fashion and riches of homage are sure ? 
How is it that all that is useless and vain 
Forthwith every maiden will strive to obtain ? 
While, — ah ! my heart aches as the tale I reveal ; — 
Rests the dust of long years on the old spinning-wheel. 

But memory turns to a happier time ; 
When I, in my beauty and youthful prime, 
A present was made to the fair young bride, 
Whose clean-swept hearth-stone I sang beside. 
Where the blazing" home-fire brightly burned ; — 
And I was by busy lingers turned. 

I see her now in her home-spun gown ; 

Her cheeks were red, and her hands were brown ; — 

And her voice was like to a sweet bell's chime. 

She sang as she spun, and her feet kept time ; — 

Her nimble feet that went to and fro 

As the wheel turned fast, or the wheel turned slow. 

And her song seemed ever more glad to me 

Than the song of the birds in the maple-tree ; — 

The maple-tree with its branches green, 

Where the sunlight danced the leaves between. 

It stood so close to the cottao:e door 



l6o TJie Spiuning-Whccrs Star}'. 

That its spreading boughs the roof hung o'er : 

And the young leaves budded, grew bright, then sere, 

With the changing moods of the changing year. 

Time passed ; and the home-tire more brightly shone ; 

For childhood was there with its joyous tone. 

And its dancing step, and its laugh of glee. — 

I could weep, if such a thing might be, 

As out from the dim and misty past, 

One picture glows, — the sweetest, — last. — 

A picture 'tis of a maiden fair. 

With gleams of gold in her shining hair. 

Who has learned her mother's place to take 

By the busy wheel, where her fingers make 

The nimble spokes go round and round. 

Till all are lulled by the drowsy sound. 

And puss, who has lain on the rug all day. 

Is fast asleep by the side of Tray : — 

\Miile the mother sits in her easy-chair. 

With her placid brow and her silver hair. 

Knitting and dreaming of youth's glad time ; — 

And the tall clock ticks to a ceaseless rhyme. 

Ah ! many a scene of joyous mirth 

Have I witnessed beside that household hearth ! 

And manv a merry laugh there rung 

When the maple leaves were green and young. 



The Sphinhig-Wheer s Story. i6i 

There were scenes, too, of sorrow as well as joy. 
When in happiness' cup mingled grief's alloy ; 
And the trembling lip spoke the last farewell, 
Which bringeth a pang no words can tell ! 

The home-chain is broken ! — the last link is gone ! 
The aged ones rest 'neath the churchyard stone! 
Youth's hope-freighted barque can return no more, 
For the tide has ebbed from the boyhood shore ! 
And the maiden passed to the " mansions fair," 
Ere the gold had paled in her shining hair ; 
Where for aye immortal youth awaits 
The soul that has won the pearly gates. 

The home-chain is broken ! — the last link is gone ! 

New faces are round the old hearth-stone ! 

But I look in vain for the friends of yore : — 

My day of toil and of pleasure is o'er : 

And here in this garret I'm cruelly thrust, 

'Mid senseless rubbish, all soiled with dust, — 

A useless thing, to bemoan my fate ; — 

Sadly to mourn, and idly to wait 

For the life that never can come to me ; — 

For the hands that are folded silently. * 



1 62 Moiia : 



MONA, 

A LOVE-STORY IN RHYME. 

Down by the brook, where the willows meet, 
Once on a time, came a maiden sweet. 

'Twas her bridal eve, — but no bridesmaids fair, 
Laughingly waited to greet her there. 

Lightly she parted the leafy screen ; 
Softly she knelt on the carpet green. 

Her toilet chamber was pure and fine. 
Ceiled and curtained by art divine ; — 

Her mirror, a spot where the waters cool 
Formed 'neath the shadows a limpid pool. 

She saw reflected a bright, arch face. 
And limbs unfettered in native grace. 

And smiled as she braided her dusky hair, 
And twined in its shadows roses fair. 



A Love-Story in Rhyme. 163 

Child of a dark and swarthy race ; — 
Yet not unlovely that youthful face. 

For a woman's soul looked out from eyes, 
Whose depths were glowing with love's surprise. 

And a warm blush burned in her olive cheek, 
Recalling the words she heard him speak, 

Who came that morn from the hill-tops down. 
As the sunrise lit their peaks of brown ; — 

A warrior-god, to her dazzled eyes ; 
Who gazed a moment in quick surprise, 

As the girl sprang up with a fawn-like grace ; 
Then turned on him her wondering face. 

Ne'er in her eyes had such wampum gleamed ; 
Never before was such blanket, seamed 

With broidered gold, or such plumage rare, 
As brightly waved o'er the long, black hair. 

With courtly phrase by Nature taught. 
Or from some pale-faced captive caught ; 



164 Mo7ia: 

The dark-browed youth the silence broke ; 
And thus in honeyed accents spoke : 

" On the wild deer's track, to this place I came ; 
I have found a flower ; may I know its name ? " 

The quick blood mounted to cheek and brow, 
As pleased, the maiden answered low : 

" Mona ; my mother calleth me. 

My father's face, I no more shall see, 

" For many seasons have gone their rounds, 
Since he went to the happy hunting-grounds. 

" And the name I bear was the last that fell 
From the lips of one who loved me well." 

The chief's bold eyes with a soft light shone, 
As he took the brown hand in his own : 

"Mona, dost know that last night I dreamed 
I had caught a fawn ; and it ever seemed 

" With shy sweet eyes to look in mine. 

With the dawn it fled ; — but the eyes were thine ; 



A Love-Story in Rhyme. 165 

" I mind me, 'twas under an old oak-tree, 
Like this, that the vision came to me." 

Wondering, trusting, she sat her down 

By his side, on the moss with acorns brown. 

Side by side in the forest old. 

The youth and maiden their story told; — 

The old, sweet story that's ever new, 
Where young hearts beat, and lives are true. 

He told of a home toward the setting sun, — 
Of an aged chieftain whose work was done, 

Who sat all day in the wigwam door, 
Watching for him when the hunt was o'er ; — 

Counting the trophies with childish glee ; — 
Recounting again in memory. 

Spoils he would never again bring home ; — 
Hunting fields he no more would roam, 

Till away beyond the setting sun, 

Where Death should bear him, when life was done 



1 66 Mona: 

He would find the strength that had vanished here ; 
And again pursue the antlered deer. 

She spoke of a mother sad and lone, 
Whose only joy was the love that shone. 

In the child's fond eyes that had caught their light, 
From eyes that were long since closed in night. 

"The squaw is lonely; the chieftain old; 
Both shall my sheltering wigwam hold, 

•' If the sweet wild flower I have found to-day, 
I may bear with me to my home away." 

Side by side till the noon's broad rays 
Pierce through the forest's leafy maze, 

The maiden shy, and the warrior bold. 
Still sit, with their story half untold. 

But when the moon's broad disc shall show 
Above the eastern hills, and throw 

Its light across the forest wide ; 
And down the river's rippling tide ; 



A Love- Story ifi Rhyme. 167 

Mona has promised with him to go ; 
To be his forever in wealor woe. — 



His, through all the long, bright Junes, — 
His, in the still October noons. — 

His, till they wait by the Silent Strand ; — 
His, when they reach the Spirit Land. 

Oh ! Love and Youth ! ye are still the same, 
As when in the by-gone centuries came. 

The patriarch's son to the well of old, 
Where the dark-eyed Rachel led her fold. 

Nor birth nor culture alone can claim 
Thy gift, for the savage feels the flame ; 

And it burns as pure by the cottage hearth, 
As among the palaces of earth. 

Oh ! Love and Youth ! given once to all ! 
Once lost, they are gone beyond recall ; 

Oh ! keep them pure, and keep them true ! 
And Heaven will guard them both for you. 



1 68 Jephthah arid His Daughter. 



JEPHTHAH AND HIS DAUGHTER. 

" The vow is made ! my beautiful ; my own ! 

My pure white virgin, spotless, undefiled ! 
Oh could I in my pride of will have known 

That Heaven would ask my only, darling child, 
The hot rash vow would have been left unspoken ! — 
I had not lived to see thy fond heart broken. 

" Glad in my triumph thou didst bound to meet me ; - 
Fairest of all the maidens in thy train ; — 

With song and dance thou earnest forth to greet me ; 
Would God that I had come a warrior slain, 

Borne on his bier ! thou wouldst have wept for me ; — 

But life, hope, love would have been left to thee. 

" Oh ! it has ever been my lot to bring 
Sorrow upon the ones I have loved most ! 

Even Heaven would not accept my offering, 
But it must be at such a cruel cost. 

That I could wish the day had never been. 

That ushered me to life, — a child of sin. 



Jephthah and His Daughter. 169 

" That I must suffer for my parent's wrong 

I ever knew was the divine decree. 
But that the curse should glide the years along, 

And fall, my innocent white dove, on thee ! 
I did not think of this, when Heaven gave me 
So pure a soul, I thought its breath could save me. 

" I well remember in my exile, how 

That thou wert my chief solace and my pride. 

Disowned by kindred, yet so dear wert thou, 
I cared for naught thy clinging love beside. 

Ah! woe the day! when to lead Israel's host, 

Ambition lured me at such fatal cost. 

" My child ! — by mine own hand ! — when life is sweet ; 

And nature's voices all have songs for thee ! 
Thou hardly movest save with dancing feet ; 

Thy lips like singing birds are wont to be ! 
Or fountains bubbling o'er with sweetest laughter : — 
Oh, how can these be mute, and I live after ! 

"Alas! my daughter, thou hast brought me low I 
No more to battle's clarion trump shall wake 

My heart, that lieth cold as Lebanon's snow ; — 
So numb and palsied that it cannot break. 

Forgive that I should prate of my own grief ! 

If I could weep for thee, — tears were relief. 



170 JephtJiah and His Daughter. 

" That thou shouldst never thrill to lover's kiss ; 

Nor feel a child's soft arm around thee twine ! 
For Israel's daughter, what more sad than this, — 

To know thou canst not call a man child thine ! 
Nor of some princely warrior, tell another ; — 
So proud in telling it ; — 'I am his mother ! ' " 

Pale as the sculptured marble and as still, 

The maiden stood and calmly heard her doom. 

From lips of one whose undisputed will 

Had been her law^ : — but in her heart no room 

Was there for selfish fear ; — true to his honor. 

She would for his oath's sake, take death upon her. 

" Since thou hast vowed, my father, it is well ; 

So let it be according to thy word ! 
But give me leave a little while to dwell 

Among the mountains, where is never heard 
By any human ear, the anguished moan 
Of grief that can be told to God alone ! " 

As drowning men do catch at any spar 

That keeps their heads awhile above the wave, 

To watch with strained eyes some ship afar, 
That sails right on, nor ever turns to save ; — 

So Jephthah's heavy heart gave quick rebound ; 

Eager to seize upon the respite found. 



JephtJiaJi and His Daughicr. 171 

'' Aye, go with thy great sorrow to the mountains ! 

To the strong hills; — they'll give thee strength to 
bear. 
And let thy maidens weep till the sweet fountains 

Of tears are dry; then kneel in suppliant prayer, 
That if for thee must be this bitter cross 
Heaven's love may recompense for earthly loss ! 

" And pray for me, my daughter! Prayer falls dead 
From lips like mine ; it hath no power to rise. 

Only my rash and fateful vow instead. 

In lightning letters burns before my eyes ; — 

Since hope and faith are lost, ask thou of Heaven, 

That for thy wrong, my wretched soul be shriven ! " 

One moment, two soft arms around him clung, 
And kisses hot with tears were on him showered. 

Then mute, erect, proud Jcphthah's daughter flung 
Her loose hair back ; — with regal will endowered 

She went from out his sight ; — a child no longer ; — 

But a proud woman, — brave as he, — and stronger. 

And Jephthah bowed, and hid his face within 

His mantle's folds, and prayed that he might die. 

But death came not. For him the past had been, 
For him the months with fated speed went by ; — 

And she returned. The record tells not how 

But, that ; " He did according to his vow.^^ 



J 2 Heaven. 



HEAVEN. 

We dream of Heaven, and fondly deem the place 
Where souls are blest, must lie beyond the stars. 

We strive ; — but fail to win life's truest grace, 
Because we make its limits prison bars. 

Yet we may have Heaven with us if we will ; 

Its fair light shining wheresoe'er we go. 
To our own choice is given good or ill. — 

It is not fate that keeps our feet so low. 

If God had made us fair and pure as they, 
Who lost their Eden, and on whom the curse 

Of every blighted life we fain would lay, — 
We had not been the better or the worse. 

Were all good ours, — like that first hapless pair, 
We still should reach to taste the bitter fruit. 

Our eager haste to test all things that are, 
Is ever of our miserv the root. 



Heaven. I73 

God grants to every longing soul its need. 

Did we but wisely use the talent given, 
Its very growth would be its own best meed ; — 

A foretaste of the perfect joy of Heaven. 

But ill-content within our narrow sphere, 
Like caged birds we beat against the wires. 

Our very songs are not for others' cheer ; 
But plaintive moans of unfulfilled desires. 

Yet some toil manfully the tide to stem 

'Neath darker skies than we have ever known. 

They find a pebble where we grasp a gem ; 

But bread unshared — ah ! better were it stone. 

God counts him greatest who unto the least 
Doth service do, as one would serve his Lord. 

No haughty Levite or unwilling priest 

Can claim at last from Him the great reward. 

Then let us give as God gives, asking naught 
But that our brother's is the greater need ! 

And Heaven's benevicence is in our thought ; — 
The smaller bounty makes not less the deed. 

It may be nothing but a kindly word ; 

It may be nothing but a smile or tear ; 
But richer depths within our hearts are stirred. 

When, self forgetting, other hearts we cheer. 



1 74 Heaven. 

It matters not to us where Heaven may lie ; 

Yon fleecy cloud may hide its jasper walls ; 
It may be years afar ; — it may be nigh ; — 

Our Heaven is here until the Master calls. 



Bethlehem, N. H, 175 



BETHLEHEM, N. H. (1882.) 

Oh ! fair and green were the hillsides 

Of the Bethlehem of old ; 
And sweet were the stars that shone on 

The shepherds that watched their fold. 
But sitting here by my window, 

In the light of the sunset glow, 
I look upon circling mountains, 

Where the shadows come and go. 

And beyond and behind them, mountains, 

To the far horizon's rim ; 
Where purple and gold and opal. 

Fade away in the distance dim. 
And just where the sun has vanished, 

Ships of gold on a crimson sea, 
Ride slowly into the h*arbor. 

Where the haven of rest must be. 

Now the evening star above them. 

Glows with as tender a light, 
As the star that shone on the cradle 

Of the Babe, that wondrous night. 



176 Bethlehem, N. H. 

And I fancy I hear the angels 
In their jubilant song of peace ; 

For the harps that were then awakened; 
Through the ages will never cease. 

Yea, it seems that the Lord is nearer 

In these high and pure retreats, 
Than down in the darksome valleys, 

Or the city's noisy streets. 
His glory is all around us ; 

The heavens declare it true ; 
And the light that guided the Magi, 

Rests on Bethlehem the new. 

No need for the moon to light it ; 

No need for the stars to shine ; 
One glory exceedeth another. 

And the beauty is all divine ; 
For lo ! from horizon to zenith. 

In a thousand undulant waves. 
The auroral lights are streaming 

From the far-off northern caves. 

The opal of sunset has faded ; 

The Heaven has opened to view ; 
And I see the " many mansions," 

And the fair light shining through. 



Bethlehem, N. H. lyy 

Look ! now 'tis a street of the City, 

And now 'tis an angel's wing ; 
And now 'tis the wonderful river ; — 

Now the pearl gates open swing. 

Though fair and green were the hillsides 

Of the Bethlehem of old, 
Before me here in the north-land 

Doth a vision as fair unfold. 
From the grand encircling mountains 

To the grander heavens above, 
I turn till, with beauty drunken, — 

I kneel at the feet of Love. 



178 After Battle. 



AFTER BATTLE (1864), 

Our troops are advancing ! 

Along the wires glancing, 
Comes flashing in letters of light ; 

This ; — " We are victorious ! 

The foe flee before us ! " — 
But where is our loved one to-night ? 

Our hearts with joy welling, 

With gratitude swelling, 
We read of the rout and the flight. 

But a boding fear haunts us ; 

And one sad thought daunts us ; - 
Ah ! where is our loved one to-night ? 

'Mid the brave who are lying 

Dead, wounded or dying, 
Or still pressing on in the fight? 

On the death-roll of Fame 

There is many a name ; 
Ay ; scan the lists closely to-night ! 



After Battle. 179 

Thank God ! it's not there ! 

What a heart-lift of care ! 
What praise to the Giver of light ! 

With a tear for hearts riven 

In sympathy given ; 
We can pray for our loved one to-night. 

Two days ; — and a letter ! 

Brief words ; — but none better ! 
" Victorious ; — and I am ' all right.' 

And far up the valley ♦ 

With no time to rally, 
The foe is before us in flight. 

" My comrade lies sleeping ! 

'Tis no place for weeping ! 
He died for the true and the right. 

And God will defend us, 

And more success send us ; — 
Give thanks for your loved one to-night ! " 

So day by day sends us 

Some good news, which lends us 
New strength and new hope for the right. 

Our daily tasks doing. 

With still hearts pursuing, 
We wait for the tidings at night. 



i8o After Battle. 

For days no dispatches ! 

The weary night watches 
Are filled with foreboding, till light 

Brings hope for despairing : — 

But darkness comes, bearing 
No news from the loved one to-night. 

By our lone hearth now sitting, 

We are quietly knitting ; 
With a hope, born of faith, that all's right. 
• In God's trust abiding, — 

To his care confiding 
Our cause and our loved one to-night. 



Life, i8i 



LIFE, 

Life hath joys as well as sorrows ; 

Life hath hopes as well as fears ; 
Sad to-days and glad to-morrows 

Mingle in the track of years. 

Never night but brings its morning ; 

Sunshine comes, and shadows flee ; 
Death but waits upon the dawning 

Of the life that is to be. 



Child of sorrow ! heir of sadness ! 

Shines no light your dark way o'er ? 
Breast the wave ! Eternal gladness 

Waits upon the farther shore. 



Does the way seem long and dreary? 

Find some noble work to do ! 
Rest waits only for the weary ; 

Work and rest are both for you. 



1 82 Life. 

Bear some burden for another ! 

By some kindly word or deed, 
You may raise a fallen brother; 

You may help a friend in need. 

Up! no longer sit repining ! — 
Life's web idle in the loom ; 

Weave it so, God's will divining, 

Threads of gold shall there find room ! 



Remoiistrajice. 183 



REMONSTRANCE, 

Oh, roses fair ! why will ye bloom 

To mock me with my woe ; 
When she, the fairest rose of all. 

Has faded long ago. 

Oh, violet ! why thine eye of blue 

So softly raise to mine ? 
Eyes that were long since closed in death, 

Seem looking out from thine. 

Oh, robin ! why salute mine ear 
With notes so glad and free ? — 

The voice that once rang through the grove 
Had sweeter melody. 

Oh, streamlet ! why go glancing on 

In light and laughing glee ? 
I seem to see a fairy form 

Go flitting thus by me. 



1 84 Remonstrance. 

But when my eager arms I stretch, 

To clasp her to my heart ; 
They only close on viewless air ; — 

And then the tear-drops start. 

And ye ! ye bright and gladsome things ! 

Ye mock me wi th my woe ; 
Ye could not know the peerless one 

Who faded long ago. 



April /, i8'](). 1^5 



APRIL I, 1879. 

Still, Winter reigns supreme ! and all the ground 
Is white with snow, that should be waiting brown, 
And pulsing glad beneath the feet of Spring. 
Not yet, not yet, doth any robin sing ! 
Only the clamorous crows the silence drown ; — 

Only the freed brooks have a spring-like sound. 



I 



Warm glows the sun beneath the arch of sky 
Surely that sky is like the sky of Spring 
Surely yon clouds, are like to those I've seen 
Oft mirrored in a lake, with fringes green. 
Formed by the bending trees, that shadows fling, 

Beneath the wavelets lightly rippling by. 

But hark ! I hear the music of the bells ! 

Sleigh bells ? ah ! yes ! 'tis Winter, Winter yet. 

But what a rosy glow is on those hills ! 

With what exultant freedom leap the rills ! 

Will not their glad song wake the violet, 
All cool and fresh within her shady dells ? 



S6 April /, iS-jg. 

Beneath the snow the sunny crocus waits ; 

The sweet Arbutus nestles 'mid her leaves. 

And fair Hepatica with smiling grace, 

E'er April vanishes will show her face ; 

And if the windflower for her lost harp grieves, 
She'll smile again when Spring unlocks her gates. 

Sing on ! for life is quickening 'neath the sod. 

Flow on ! oh, currents from Earth's throbbing 

heart ! 
Still Nature bides her time ; and never yet 
Did she for any vexing hindrance fret, 
Or fail in patience to perform her part ; — 

F^om the first timid flower to goldenrod. 



spring. 187 



SPRING. 

With a dancing step, and a voice of song ; 
With a flowering wreath her locks among ; 
Gayly tripping the fields along ; 
Cometh joyous Spring. 

With a mantle of green, and an eye of blue ; 
With a breath all fragrant with morning dew ; 
Bright as a raindrop the sun looks through ; 
Cometh fairy Spring. 

Anon with a smile, and again with a tear, 
Brushing away the dead leaves sere ; 
And strewing flowers o'er Winter's bier; 
Cometh gentle Spring. 

With hope in her heart, and joy in her eye ; 
Scattering blessings, she passeth by ; 
We watch her vanishing form, with a sigh 
For departing Spring. 



In Autumn Time, 



IN AUTUMN TIME, 

Ever falling are the leaves ; 
Ever ripening are the sheaves ; 
In the Autumn time. 

Ever sighing is the wind, 
For the summer left behind ; 
In the Autumn time. 

But the sunset skies are fair, 

With the blended colors rare 

Of the Autumn time. 

And the golden light shines through 
Leaves of every changing hue, 
In the Autumn time. 

There are sweet and restful days, 
In the soft and dreamy haze 
Of the Autumn time. 



Ill Aiitiirnii Time. 189 

There are flowers that blossom late ; 
There are joys that ever wait, 
Till the Autumn time. 

Let the golden year go round ! 
Bloom and fruitage both are found 
In the Autumn time. 

So we tread the fallen leaves ; 

Glad to gather in the sheaves 

Of the Autumn time. 



igo Uplifting. 



UPLIFTING. 

My heart was lonely amid the gay. 

No soul brought a gift to mine. 
And I heard a voice to my unrest, say, 

*' Kneel thou at a purer shrine ! " 

A bird of Paradise floated by, 

And brushed me with its wing : 
I felt the touch, and I looked on high ; — 

But I saw no living thing. 

Yet sometimes a fragment of Heavenly song 

Would my restless heart subdue ; 
And on strange, sweet chords would vibrate long, — 

Till thought into music grew. 

Years passed, and life brought its many cares : 

Forgot was the Heavenly song. 
I knelt no more by the altar stairs, 

But jostled amid the throng, 

Till my brain grew numb with a weary pain ; 

And the stars of Heaven were dim. 
Then I sighed ; — " Oh ! to waken those chords again. 

And recall that grand sweet hymn ! " 



uplifting. 191 

" In vain ; it was only a dream of youth ; 

The romance of Hfe is o'er ! " — 
Said one, who assumed the garb of Truth , — 

" Take what is : — and dream no more ! " 

But once, when I knelt at the Master's feet, 

With my heart-strings out of tune ; 
They thrilled to a strain of music, sweet 

As of leaves in the month of June. 

It deepened and swelled ; — and the notes grew 
clear ; — 

And the song took a loftier strain ; — 
'Twas a Heart that spoke ; and I needs must hear ; — 

I had found the lost chords again. 

They were fastened above, by the hand of Love ; 

And an angel swept the lyre ! 
And one, that was winged like a snow-white dove, 

Leant, beckoning me up higher. 

The sky was alight ; and the stars were bright ; 

And the cloud had left the heaven ! — 
To Him who giveth " songs in the night," 

I offered praise at even. 



192 A Dreamer. 



A DREAMER. 

He dreamed of Fame ; — and lo ! a temple fair, 
In mocking grandeur, rose before his eyes : 

And toiling up the steep, ascending stair, 
Toward its high pinnacle, in glad surprise 

He read his name ; — and thought an angel's hand 
Had written it; — when all, down, crumbling, fell. 

Beneath his feet was but a mound of sand. 
Washed by the restless tide's incoming swell. 

He dreamed of bliss ; and wove with golden thread 
A fabric fair as wrought by Love's own hand. 

And Joy the glittering mantle o'er him spread ; — 
Grief turned it sack-cloth with remorseless wand. 

And then he dreamed a life of Duty wrought, 
Should bring to him life's crowning joy of all ; 

A stern rebuke of self was all it taught ; — 

He had not dreamed how far his pride could fall. 



A Dreamer. 193 

And so the man grew old ; — and still he dreamed. 

He dreamed that all that he had held most dear 
Of vanished joys ; — or hopes that mocking seemed ; — 

Or bliss that left but a regretful tear; 

All that his life had lost or missed below ; — 

All he had sought, and seeking, failed to find ; — 

All good he would, but had not power to do ; — 
All futile aspirations of the mind, — 

Should yield fruition in another sphere ; 

Or compensation ; giving gain for loss ; 
So crowning him that he could count them dear, — 

The waiting years that he had borne the cross. 



194 Wherefore, 



WHEREFORE 

*' All that's bright must fade, 

The brightest still the fleetest ; 
All that's sweet was made, 

But to be lost when sweetest." — Moore. 

Oh ! Winter so long ! Oh ! Summer so brief ! 

Oh ! tiniest sparkle of joy , 
Oh ! the hopes that bud with the budding leaf ; 

For Time, like the leaf, to destroy. 

Will they bloom like the rose for one sweet day ? 

Sun-kissed in the dewy morn ; 
Ere evening with petals dropping away ; — 

Frail fragments on idle winds borne ? 

Or like golden-crowned lilies, standing fair 

Amid billows of waving green ? 
Where to-morrow, fresh fragrance fills the air, 

And the mower's scythe is seen ? 

Or will they like leaves, all the summer through. 

Rustle gayly, and dance, and sing 
In the hearts that hold them dear and true. 

Till the Autumn tempests bring. 



Wherefore? 195 

To the leaf's frail trust, and the heart's brief joy, 

Doom alike of the outcast's pain ? — 
Crushed under the feet like a worthless toy; 

And sodden by pitiless rain ? 

Oh ! Winter so long ! Oh ! Summer so brief ! 

Oh ! tiniest sparkle of joy ! 
Will no hopes bud with the budding leaf, 

That Time shall fail to destroy ? 

There are evergreen boughs in the forest bare ; 

There are pines, that the Winter through, 
Keep all they have won with a jealous care ; 

And grandly their strength renew. 

But the sweet, frail flowers that bloom to die ; 

And the leaves that bud to fall ; — 
Doth He heed them less, that He knoweth why ? — 

He that loveth and watcheth all ? 



196 The Mermaid's Song. 



THE MERMAID'S SONG. 

Under the sea ! under the sea ! 
Loved of thy love ; I am waiting for thee ! 
Pearls have I wreathed in my shining hair ; 
Bracelets of coral, clasp arms as fair 
As those that to-night thy neck en wreathe ; 
Maiden ! in vain is the prayer you breathe; 
For, under the sea ! under the sea ! 
Loved of thy love ! I am waiting for thee ! 

To-morrow the good ship sails o'er the main. 
It sails ! but will never return again. 
Clasp thy beloved in thy arras once more ! 
I shall kiss the lips she has kissed before. 
A month ago, a fair ship went down ; 
I found 'mong its treasures a bridal gown ; 
And under the sea ! under the sea ! 
Loved of thy love ! I am waiting for thee. 

My boudoir is built of the sea-shell fine ; 
The wealth of the ocean and land is mine. 
For many a ship its tribute brings, 
And lays at my feet its offerings. 



TJie Mermaid's Song. 197 

No bride had ever so fair a dower ; 
No maid can lure thee with surer power ; 
While under the sea! under the sea! 
Loved of thy love ! I am waiting for thee ! 

Over the sea ! Over the sea ! 

The maid thou hast loved will watch for thee. 

Let her keep for her shroud, her bridal gear ! 

To a fairer bride her love draws near. 

To be true in death, thou hast vowed, — didst say ? 

The vow was false ! She may weep and pray ! 

But under the sea ! under the sea ! 

Oh loved of thy love ! thou shalt come to me. 



Trust. 



TRUST, 

Along the shore, 
The breakers roar ; 

The wind blows o'er the lea. 
Alas ! that they, 
For whom I pray ; 

To-night are on the sea. 

Upon the tide, 
The foam-caps ride ; 

The clouds are black above. 
Oh ! Father, keep 
Safe on the deep ; 

The dear ones whom I love ! 

Against the pane, 
Wild beats the rain ; 

I see the lightning's glare. 
O, Lord ! be near 
My loved ones dear ! 

To-night is all my prayer. 



Trust. 1 99 

Mid thunder crash 

And Hghtning flash, 
Louder the breakers roar. 

Oh ! would that they, 

For whom I pray. 
To-night were on the shore ! 

On sea or land ; 

Safe in God's hand ! 
I leave them to His care. 

He, watch will keep, 

E'en while I sleep ; — 
They do not need my prayer. 



200 Hoiv to Know. 



HOW TO KNOW. 

FOR MY LITTLE FRIENDS. 

If I were a little brook, 

I should not know what to say ; 
Never having read a book, 

Never doing aught but play. 

But the brooklet sings a song ; 

And the traveller waits to hear. 
Carelessly it glides along ; 

But it hath a song of cheer. 

If I were a flow'ret small, 

How should I know what to say ? 
Never having learned at all ; 

Only living for a day. 

But the little tiny flower. 
Still is to its mission true ; 

Though it bloom but for an hour, 
It may have a thought for you. 



Hozv to Knozv. 201 

For the blessed Saviour taught, 
That the Father, who could care 

For the lily, toiling not ; 

Listens to His children's prayer. 

If I were a giant tree, 

What, I wonder, should I say. 
When the wind came down on me ; 

Bearing all my leaves away ? 

But the tree in silence stands ; 

Strong and patient, brave and true ; 
Taking from its Maker's hands 

All He sends, — as if it knew. 

All its crushed and withered leaves, 

Tenderly He puts away ; 
If the great tree for them grieves, 

Who can know, or who can say ? 

For its roots will still drink in 

Strength from food that He supplies. 

Till the sweet, rich juice begin 
Up the tree's huge trunk to rise. 

Then each branch and twig so bare. 

Filled with sap to overflow. 
Puts out new leaves, fresh and fair. 

And they seem to whisper low, 



202 How to Know. 

" If God ever from you take 

What He gives, be strong and true ! 
It will be, that He may make 
Something better still for you." 



The Wide, Wide Wor/d. 203 



THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 

The world is wide ! and the ships go by ; 

And the winds blow o'er the sea : 
But little they reck, when waves dash high, 

Of the life of you or me. 

The world is wide ! yet many a barque 
Goes down 'neath the rushing waves. 

And many a form lies cold and stark, 
In the sea's unfathomed caves. 

The world is wide ! and its throngs press on ; 

Though some may fall by the way ; 
The ranks close up, and the soldier gone, 

Is only missed for a day. 

The world is wide ! and the beggar waits, 

All in vain at Dives' door. 
In a world so wide, shall the rich man's gates 

Stand open to the poor ? 



204 The Wide, Wide World. 

The world is wide ! ah ! I fear, too wide 

For our narrow aim and ken. 
From our chosen paths, shall we turn aside, 

For the querulous wants of men ? 

Oh world so wide ! not a sparrow falls 
To the ground, without His eye. 

Not a burdened heart e'er vainly calls ; 
No lonely sufferer's sigh ; 

But is heard by Him who holds the seas 

In the hollow of his hand ; 
Yet noteth and guideth every breeze ; 

If it blow from sea or land. 

Oh human heart ! is the world too wide ? 

Are human needs too small 1 
That thou from their claim, shouldst turn aside, 

When the dear Lord cares for all } 



Almost Home. 205 



ALMOST HOME. 

The angels wait by the shadowed gate ; 
They wait, yes ! they wait for thee ! 

Dost see ? Dost see ? 
How they wait, they wait for thee ? 

By the shining gate, thy dear ones wait • 
They wait, yes ! they wait for thee ! 

Dost see ? Dost see ? 
That they wait, they wait for thee ? 

Lay thy work down ! Take and wear thy crown ! 
It waits ; lo ! it waits for thee ! 

Dost see ? Dost see ? 
That it waits, it waits for thee ? 

Fold restless hands, at thy Lord's command ! 
There is rest, sweet rest for thee ! 

Dost see ? Dost see ? 
There is Heaven's rest for thee. 



2o6 Transition. 



TRANSITION, 

A SOLEMN Stillness is in the air. 

On the snow-crowned hills the light shines fair ; 

Like the light of Heaven on a peaceful brow. — 
On the brow of one who smiling, waits 
By the hither side of the closed pearl gates, 

Till the angels the portals open throw. 

A bird twitters loV in the leafless trees, 
There's a breath of Spring in the rising breeze, 

And warm are the rays of the rising sun. 
But hark ! on the startled air rings a knell ! 
'Tis the slow, deep sound of the passing bell. 

For one whose mission on earth is done. 

From the Winter dead, the white robes fall. 
To the waiting Spring, sweet voices call, 

" Come now ; our chosen ; we crown thee Queen ! " 
But to one, Life-crowned, white robes are given ; 
And a light shines clear, from the opening Heaven, 

Till we almost see, the gates between. 



Cojttrasts. 207 



CONTRASTS, 

AUTUMN RAIN. 

Sad and slow 

The mourners go. 
Drearily drips the rain ! 

Over the hill 

To the church-yard still, 
Winds a funeral train. 
II. 

Tolls no bell 

With mournful knell ! 
Steadily drips the rain ; 

In solemn state, 

By the church-yard gate, 
Waits the funeral train. 
III. 

Falls no tear 

Upon the bier ! 
Only the dripping rain, 

On the coffin lid, 

Where one face is hid, — 
That could not smile for pain. 



2o8 Contrasts, 

IV. 

Into the ground, 
With a grating sound, 

And the drip, drip of the rain ; 
The coffin slides, 
And the cold earth hides 

One who has lived in vain. 

V. 

'Neath the sod, 
Bury the clod ! 

Bury one sad heart's pain, 

That none may know, 
As the mourners go. 

Home in the dripping rain ! 



SUMMER SUNSHINE. 
I. 

The bells ring merrily ! 

The birds sing cheerily ! 
For 'tis her wedding morn. 

The sun shines brightly ! 

The breezes lightly 
Sway the tassels of the corn ! 



Co7itrasts. 209 

II. . 

From rose to clover, 

The bees flit over, 
All through the meadow green. 

Where rides young Harry .'* 

He goes to marry 
Fair Elsie, the village queen. 
III. 

The bells ring merrily ! 

The sexton cheerily 
The church-door open throws ! 

The groom walks proudly ! 

The choir chants loudly ! — 
The bride waits like a rose. 

IV. 

The sunlight shimmers. 

In golden glimmers, 
Upon the flower-crowned head ! 

White-robed all purely ; — 

Eyes drooped demurely ; — 
Hands clasped ; — and the vows are said. 

V. 

Won ! for the wooing ! 

Done ! past undoing ! 
Twain, to be henceforth one ! 

Welcome the omen ! 

Blest among women ! — 
Bride on whom shines the sun. 



2IO Co7itrasts. 

VI. 

Girt with its brightness ; 

Hearts full of lightness ; 
So they go forth in the morn. 

Past rose and clover ; 

Where bees flit over ; — 
Home by the tasselled corn. 



Wrecked. 211 



WRECKED, 

I SIT me down in utter weariness 

Among the ruins of my castle fair. — 
My castle that I builded in the air ; 

And thought its beauty all my life should bless. 

No one had seen my castle. None could guess 
What hopes were centred in it. None do care ; 
Nor dream that as I walk my even way, 
I can have met with any loss to-day. 

O, ye who win life's guerdon ! pity those 

Who strive and miss it ! weave their dreams too late 
Beat helplessly against blank walls of fate 

That shut them in unto life's very close. 
And they, at last, in utter, sheer despair, 
Sink into apathy ; — and no more care. 



212 Oblivion. 



OBLiyiON. 

Down to the winding river, 

Where the reeds and rushes shiver ; 

And the trees drop shadows all : 
She comes in rhe hush of the morning 
And never a bird gives warning ; — 

And never a voice doth call. 

A rift in the winding river ; — 
A sob, as the dark waves quiver 

One moment ; — and that is all. 
And the tide flows smoothly onward ; 
And the happy birds fly sunward ; — 

And only the shadows fall. 



A Dream. 213 



A DREAM, 

I DREAMED last night, while on my couch reposing, 
A dream so real, I thought my dreams were o'er. 

And one, with fingers soft, my eyelids closing. 
Said ; " She will never see the sunlight more. 

"But bring no flowers for her; — she will not need 
them. — 

Why should they wither on her bosom cold ? 
She loved them in her life ; — but who will heed them. 

When o'er the sight is drawn Death's curtain fold ? " 

I heard and saw ; — a lonely, unseen presence, — 
Watching the chilling rites, with saddened eyes. 

O'er my own form ; whose subtle, living essence 
Was not yet drawn to unfamiliar skies. 

And if they loved me, would they grudge the fairest 
Of garden blooms to lay upon my bier.? 

Would they not bring the sweetest and the rarest ; 
And moisten each drooped petal with a tear.'' 



214 ^ Dream. 

Then one from out some withered, festal garland, 
Dropped a few poor, pale blossoms at my side ; 

And said ; " She will find sweeter in that far-land, 
Where all perennial blooms and loves abide." 

True; — but the earthly blossoms are the token 
Of loving thought from friends I leave below. — 

If no regretful word for me were spoken ; 

Though I were dead ; — I think that I should know. 

Oh friends ! dear friends ! when o'er the breathless 
sleeping. 

You lay with reverent hands, Earth's fragile flowers ; 
Then turn away, and say with bitter weeping ; 

" They mind them not, safe in celestial bovvers." 

Mayhap, through closed lids, spirit eyes are seeing ; 

And deafened ears thrill to Love's faintest breath ; — 
For all that higher, purer realm of being, 

Is only just beyond the gates of Death. 

Then grieve them not, by weak and brief regretting ! 

Fresh from perennial founts their love is drawn ; 
Love, — Heavenly Love, — that never knows forgetting ; 

But through eternal ages still loves on. 



Evening in the Country. 215 



EVENING IN THE COUNTRY. 

The night dews are falling, falling ; 

And the sun is sinking low ; 
The birds to their mates are calling, 

And the milch-kine homeward go. 

The oxen come from the meadow. 
With the heavily loaded wain. 

And the men rest in the shadow 
Of the stacks of ripened grain. 

The horse at the bars is neighing 
For his nightly meal of corn. 

In the yard, the children are playing; 
While the beggar waits forlorn, 

Peering through the outer gateway. 
At the noisy group within ; 

But the farmer sees him straightway, 
And calls the wanderer in. 



2i6 Evcjiiiig in the Coviitry. 

For the evening meal, preparing, 
The wife goes her busy round. 

The stranger its bounty sharing, 
Hath a kindly welcome found. 

From the door, the farmer is keeping 
Lookout for the weather's sign ; 

His thought on the morrow's reaping; 
Will the day be foul or fine ? 



The young moon, — a silver crescent, 
Hangs low in the amber sky. 

And the light clouds, evanescent, 
Go mistily floating by. 

On the gate, a young man is leaning, 
Looking into a maiden's eyes. 

The shadows her blushes screening ; - 
While softly the south-wind sighs. 

The moon dips lower and lower! 

The stars like jewels shine ! 
The clock in the old church tower. 

Strikes slowly the hour of nine. 

The lover goes home in the star-light 
And the maiden seeks her rest ; 

While Venus reaches her far-light 
To them, from this darkening west. 



Evening in tJie Coiuitry. 217 

The fireflies glint in the meadow ; 

In the near-woods, the owlets call; 
The night steals on with its shadow ; — 

And darkness is over alL 



2i8 Bird Songs. 



BIRD SONGS. 



Dropping down ! Dropping down ! 

So the melody falls. 
Through the leaves of the elms that skirt the town 
Like a rain of pearls, the notes come down, 

In a myriad wild-bird calls. 

To and fro ! To and fro ! 

Gayly the songsters fly ! 
From tree to tree, — above, — below, 
Flashing the sunlight their bright wings go ; 

Then melt in the blue of the sky. 

Far and near ! Far and near ! 

From meadow to wooded hill. 
Rises and falls the anthem clear ; — 
Grand " Te Deum " and home-song dear, — 

Solo in quaver and trill. 

All around ! All around ! 

Symphonies everywhere ! 
The air is pulsing and throbbing with sound ! 
The sweet May-blossoms fall to the ground. 

And lie entranced there ! 



Bird Songs. 219 

Dropping down ! Dropping down ! 
From the sky the music falls ! 
Regal June with her emerald crown ; — 
Star-eyed Hope, whose melodies drown 
Discords of pain, — it calls. 



220 Autum7ial Days. 



AUTUMNAL DAYS. 

The sere and yellow leaf! 

Oh youth ! thou wert too brief ! 

Oh age ! thou art too nigh ! 
Full soon the leaf must fall ; 
Ah ! if this life were all, 

How sad a thing to die ! 

The golden moments lost ; — 
Too late we count their cost ; 

We mind not how they speed ! 
But age creeps on apace ; 
Another wins the race ; — 

We thought, of haste, no need. 

Oh velvet-footed hours ! 

Strew not your path with flowers, 

So noiseless, and so sweet ! 
But rather let your tread 
Beat reveilles instead ; 

With heavy marching feet ! 



Autumnal Days. 221 

For, when beneath the ground \ 
We hear not any sound ; 

The grass so noiseless grows. 
The buds are all so still, 
We never know the thrill, 

That wakes to life the rose. 

Oh, if this life were all, 
How, like a knell, would fall 

The measured strokes of Time ! 
But seeing skies afar. 
The dropping moments are 

A vesper-bell's sweet chime. 



222 While the Day Lasts. 



WHILE THE DAY LASTS. 

How fares the soul when the sun goes down 
And the long, long day has been ? 

God help the soul when the heavens frown, 
And nowhere the stars are seen ! 

The sun comes up, and the sun goes down, 

And the long day lies between. 
The heavens smile, and the heavens frown ; - 

But somewhere the stars are seen. 

The tide goes out, and the tide comes in ; 

The rocks are above or below. 
But the brave ship will the harbor win 

Whether tides shall come or go. 

The birds fly south, and the birds fly north, 
And Winter gives place to Spring. 

The snows may drift, or the warm rains fall ; 
But somewhere the birds will sing. 



While the Day Lasts. 223 

The wind blows east, and the wind blows west, 

And the weather is foul or fair : 
But the sower sows, and he reapeth best, 

Who for wind nor cloud doth care. 

The sun will rise, and the sun go down ; — 

There's always a day between. 
Though the heavens smile, or the heavens frown, 

Work on ! till the stars are seen ! 



224 TJie Difference. 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

There's a lonely path in a pleasant wood ; 

Once a maid walked gayly through it. 
And naught she cared for the solitude, 

Although she was fair, — and knew it. 

She knew no more of the world of wrong 

Than the singing birds above her. 
The squirrels chattered the boughs among; 

The brook sang low, " I love her." 

"Oh ! where is the wood, and where is the maid ? 

I would that I might find her ! " 
She heard young Love, and she shrank afraid, 

Lest he in his fetters bind her. 

The maiden walks again in the wood ; 

And the birds still sing above her; — 
But now she weeps at the solitude ; — 

And sighs for a faithless lover. 



\> 



Pocahontas. 225 



POCAHONTAS. 

Pocahontas ! Indian princess ! 

Storied name that ringeth down 
'Mid the paeans of the centuries, 

From an old Virginia town. 

Woman's love and woman's courage, — 
Heroine of a savage race ! — 

Shone through eyes both true and tender 
Lent the wreathing arms their grace * 

Brave to die for one unworthy ! 

Strong to live with bleeding heart ! 
All thy race's proud endurance, 

Hiding well the cruel smart. 

Pocahontas ! Friend of white men ! 

Looking down from heights of bliss, — 
If the blest in Heaven could suffer, 

What thy earthly pain to this ? — 



226 Pocahontas. 

This, thy race's extirpation ; 

Driven by the white man's greed : — 
Driven by the march of progress : — 

" Might makes right," the nation's creed. 

Pocahontas ! Indian princess ! 

Soon thy race will be no more. 
Soon the white men's homes will cover 

All the land from shore to shore. 

But thy name in song and story, 

Still will ring the centuries down. — 

Bravest of heroic women, — 
From an old Virginia town. 



My City. 22*j 



MY CITY. 

There's a city of which I often dream ; 

A river beside it flows. 
The name of the city, the name of the stream, 

I know not, and no man knows. 

I roam through its streets in the silent night ; 

There's something I seek to find. 
I wearily wake by the morning light ; 

Its picture is in my mind. 

As though in a chart it before me lies ; 

Its length and its breadth I see. 
Its spires and turrets so clearly rise, 

I know that the city must be. 

In the near background of the picture fair. 
Is a hill that I sometimes climb ; 

And an ancient castle standeth there. — 
It seems to have stood through Time. 



228 My City, 

And around the castle I often roam ; 

But never its portals pass. 
Its doors ne'er open, and no guests come ; 

No footsteps are on the grass. 

Then adown the path by the river side, 

Again to the city I go. 
No boat is afloat on the nameless tide ; 

No vessel is moored below. 

And yet it seemeth a pleasant stream ; 

So shaded and still and fair. 
I see it always as in my dream, 

With the tall trees mirrored there. 

In the streets of the city I'm not unknown ; 

There are faces I often meet : 
I should see those faces, and those alone, 

If I met them in any street. 

Would you know where lieth this city fair? 

'Tis a marvel unto me. 
But whether of earth, or whether of air, 

A dream or a fantasy, 

I still will call it my city, — and deem 

The vision so true to be, 
I shall walk the path by the nameless stream, 

And find what there waits for me : 



My City. 229 

I shall meet those faces so strong and true • 

And above my life's ideal, 
Will arise a palace that's fair and new, — 

In the kingdom of the Real. 



230 A Blind Pilgrmt. 



A BLIND PILGRIM. 

I SEE not the path my feet shall tread 

In the years that lie before me ; 
I take my staff with a nameless dread ; 

For the cloud that hangeth o'er me. 

I leave the light of my childhood's home, 
That may never again be mine ; — 

A stranger hence o'er the world to roam, 
In the shadow of day's decline. 

The flower that blossomed my way beside, 

I see not for leaves that fall. 
The bird that sang in the sweet spring-tide, 

No more to its mate doth call. 

I know not what blessing His hand may hold ; 

What answer to my prayer ; 
If " not my will," shall the years unfold ; 

Some gift from God is there. 



A Blind Pilgrim, 23 

It may be a joy ; it may be a pain ; 

It may be a hope fulfilled ; 
It may be a wish that I've wished in vain, 

Or a cup that my hand hath spilled. 

The flowers no longer may bathe my feet ; 

Or the light of the morning shine : 
But the stars of evening are cool and sweet ; 

And my heart shall not repine. 



232 The Old and the New. 



THE OLD AND THE NEW, 

The old year is dying, dying ; 

And the sad, sad winds are sighing ; — 

Sighing and moaning in the leafless trees. 

He lieth cold, — 

The year so old ; 
And I hear a weird voice crying ; 

" Cover him low, 

With the pure, white snow ; 
And chant his requiem, O wailing breeze !" 

Farewell to thee, old year ! 

Farewell forever ! 

The dead return, ah ! never ! 

And yet, old year, we have loved thee well. 

Thou hast brought us joy ; 

Thou hast brought us cheer ; 
Thou hast brought us griefs that we may not tell. 

Farewell to thee, old year ! 

Farewell forever ! 

The dead return, ah ! never ! 



The Old and the New. 233 

The new year cometh ; cometh ; 

I hear his footsteps on the snow. 

I see his crimson cheeks aglow, 
In the early morn, when the day is born 
And the sky is aflame with the wonderful light 
That heralds the morning and ushers the night. 

" Oh, gay New Year ! Oh, glad New Year ! 
What dost thou bring of woe or chSer ? " 

" Ask me not ! my secrets are mine ; 

Some thirst for the water ; some drink of the wine." 

" Oh, gay New Year ! Oh, glad New Year ! 
What shall we hope for ? what shall we fear ? " 

" Hope for the good that thine own hand doeth ! 
Fear but the evil thy heart pursueth ! 
To the hand that giveth, the gift returns. 
But thy evil deed, thy own palm burns. 
No more ! — for the crimson lights of dawn 
Show me the path of the year that's gone ; 
And backward look, if thou wouldst know 
How each year mingles its joy and woe." 
January i, 1884. 



